


The Holiday

by abigail89, starry_eyed_fics, weepingnaiad



Category: Star Trek (2009), The Holiday (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: jim_and_bones, F/M, Inspired by a Movie, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starry_eyed_fics/pseuds/starry_eyed_fics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day AU based heavily on the movie, “The Holiday”, done for the LJ comm, jim_and_bones’ <a href="http://jim-and-bones.livejournal.com/565031.html">Reel_Love Challenge</a>.  Jim Kirk is a documentary film maker who didn’t even notice his lover had moved out, while Spock gets dumped by his long-time girlfriend.  On a whim, they swap homes for the holidays and find more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Endings can be beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** The ever glorious, brilliant and fabulous, jlh. Thank you, m’dear!  
>  **A/N:** Christopher Pike and Philip Boyce have been aged up a lot. It was necessary in the context of the story.  
>  **A/N 2:** And, by “based heavily”, weepingnaiad (one half of starry_eyed_fics), means that she stole dialog, some of it was just too perfect too resist and fit Jim and Bones perfectly. So, if you recognize it, it likely came from Jude Law’s mouth, with a smattering of Diaz’s lines taken for good measure.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/2starry_gals/pic/000014ax)

Spock looked up from the journal he was reading, standing quickly as Leila flowed into the room. His lover never just walked into a room. She fluttered, almost danced, her steps light and free, her golden blonde hair flowing in waves about her, the patchwork broomstick skirt she wore swirling around her bare ankles. Leila was a true bohemian, a free spirit, and that was what drew Spock to her. Like a moth to flame, he could never resist her. He couldn't understand her most of the time, but that was inconsequential when she smiled at him.

Which she most definitely was not doing now.

“Spock, please don’t try to make sense of this.”

“Make sense of what?” He took the cardboard box she handed him, glancing in it to see his things -- clean underwear, a shirt, two issues of “The Biochemist”, a comb, razor, and his toothbrush.

“I’m moving.”

“Moving?”

Spock felt like a parrot, so kept still. Long experience aided him in presenting a collected facade to the world when inside he was bewildered, lost, and hurt. So very hurt.

There was a knock on the door and Spock balanced the cardboard box containing the dross of his life on one hand while opening the door with the other. Standing in the hallway was Mark Stonn, Leila’s publicist. Assistant. Spock was never quite sure exactly what Mark’s job was.

And Mark was holding a box with Linus, the cat Spock had given Leila, as well as all of Linus’ ‘necessities’: cat food, toys, bed, litter.

Spock took Linus who immediately crawled his way up his arm to perch on Spock’s shoulders, his tail twitching. Linus did not like Mark. Neither did Spock. Their suspicions seemed to be corroborated.

Spock turned, about to close the door on Mark, when he stepped, uninvited, into the condo. He set Linus’ box in the middle of the floor, lifting it out of yet another, still larger box. Mark followed Leila who flitted about Spock’s home, collecting all of the accumulated flotsam and jetsam of their year’s long relationship into that single box. He had never before made note or noticed just how little their lives had been intertwined.

“Let’s get a move on, Lei. I want to miss rush hour traffic.”

“Leila, please explain?” Spock asked. He was unsure what was going on, but that was not an unusual state of affairs with Leila. She absolutely refused to follow convention, never called ahead, didn’t even own a cell phone or watch, let alone planned a single detail of her life. Leila lived on a whim, was less stable than nitroglycerin and equally as detrimental to Spock’s brain.

She stopped and turned, stepping close to Spock, her hand resting on his cheek. He leaned into her touch. “Mark and I are moving to an artists’ commune in Nova Scotia.”

Spock blinked, cocking his head, the shock not registering, or maybe the news had shorted out all the axons in his nervous system such that he could no longer move or speak.

“It’s been good, Spock, but... we’re too different. You need order; I feel suffocated by it. I need space to write, and Mark wants to paint, so I’m going with him. I want to finish my novel, Spock. You know how much it means to me.”

Spock gazed impassively at Mark. With his long hair, ratty jeans, suede vest, and Birkenstock sandals, he made Spock want to do something rash; like shout _’This isn’t the 60s!’_ , or worse -- shove the smirking asshole down the stairs. Instead, he swallowed and cleared his throat, managing to sound somewhat calm when he stated, “I thought that you wanted a more orderly life, a more disciplined life in order to finish your novel.” He stopped, staring at Leila, whose eyes were filling with tears. Seeing them, he softened his tone and gaze even if he knew he was being ‘played’ yet again. Still, he could not change the effect she had on him and he could not bear to see her cry. “However, in light of this revelation, I can attempt to change, Leila, to give you the...space you need to be creative and productive. I did not realize that the order I had imposed on your life was the cause of your recent writing difficulties.”

Leila lifted to her tiptoes and kissed him lightly, her frown pressing against his lips. “I know, Spock. And I’m sorry, but I think this is best. I thought your discipline was what I needed, but apparently not. I am not a chemical imbalance or mysterious strand of DNA.”

He then asked, “Shall I assume that we will not be spending Christmas together, then?”

It was a stupid, stupid question, just reinforced her opinion of him -- how romantic was it really to schedule Christmas festivities? -- but nothing else came to mind. He felt like an idiot once the words were out, but Leila just smiled at him. “It’s for the best, Spock. You can set out your mother’s Menorah and take back all those Christmas decorations. There’s still time to get your money back.”

He merely gazed at her, once again unable to argue with her. He had been willing to put aside his culture and traditions for her, but now he’d be alone and the fact that he’d planned to... No, he was not thinking about the small velvet box tucked away in his sweater drawer.

“Good-bye, Spock.”

The door closed behind them and Linus jumped down, purring softly and winding his way around and between Spock’s legs.

Spock dropped to the sofa, unable to get past the very simple fact that he’d be spending the rest of the holidays alone.

~~*~~

“Jim? Jim, are you all right?”

Jim Kirk looked up from the steaming latte he held in his hand, the latte he’d just sugared to perfection and was looking forward to. _Figures._ Gary would choose that moment to dump this pile of garbage on him just as he took the first sip.

The words Gary Mitchell had just spoken were filtering through the bone of his hard head, seeping into the delicate cells and synapses, winging their way through his brain and nervous system via singing nerves to stab him directly in the heart.

“I’m really sorry,” Gary said. His hands were waving about his head, something he did when he was nervous or high on caffeine. Jim was sure Gary was on like his fifth cup of espresso; his right hand was fluttering, a sure sign that Gary had been at the coffee shop for a while. “It’s just that--God--I’m so sorry.”

The conversation swirling about the small cafe faded to a low buzz in Jim’s ears. _Jim, I’m seeing someone else. He’s amazing and he works with kids and you should see him, Jim. He just gets what I want to do eventually. Not that you haven’t understood me. I’m seeing someone else. Someone. Else. Someone. ELSE._

“Jim?”

Gary looked at him with concern, real concern, and placed his hand on Jim’s wrist. Jim felt it but his brain was still processing _Someone else someone else someoneelsesomeoneelse._ “Jim, I’m sorry, but it’s been like this for the past six months. I call, and it takes days for you to call me back. I make dinner and you don’t come home. I’ve gone to bed without you more times than I can count. I know you and Nyota have been tied up with your new documentary, and I’m proud of you, I really am. It’s going to be awesome and I’m looking forward to it, but--” Gary gave a slight hitch as he drew a breath after spewing out words that had been pent up and worried over and carefully crafted for the past two weeks in his head. “I feel like you abandoned me. Did you even notice that I’d moved out of the loft?”

That got his attention. “What? You moved out? When?” Jim’s hand trembled as it picked up the mug, a mug that felt like it weighed a ton now. Why the hell did he put in all that sugar? 

Gary gave him a weak, sad smile. “Jim, I’ve been gone for a week.”

“Good thing you never gave up your apartment,” Jim snarked immediately. His hand dropped, and the mug hit the table with so much force that half of the latte sloshed over the rim to puddle on a good portion of the small table. “Fuck.” Jim shook his hand. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He looked up. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s all right.” Gary ran his hands through his thinning hair. “Maybe--maybe it is good I didn’t break my lease because I’ve been spending a lot more time there than at your place.”

A chill ran through Jim. “Have you slept with him?”

Gary looked startled. “Who?”

“Him. This guy who works with kids and is amazing and clearly not me?”

Jim watched as Gary’s mouth fished around for the words. He knew Gary well, knew him well enough to know that he was going to roll out with a lie. “You know what, I don’t want to know. You’ve made your mind up.” Jim stood.

“Wait!” Gary held his hand out, touching Jim’s forearm. Jim flinched, as if Gary had slapped him. “Wait.”

“Wait for what, Gary?” Jim said, pulling his jacket from his chair. “Wait for you to try to explain this all away? Wait for you to just run all over me, telling me this is my fault?”

Gary gaped at him. “This is your fault, Jim.”

“Oh, that’s _rich_ , Gary.” Jim knew he was in public and knew he was getting wound up, but seriously? Gary was accusing _him_ of breaking them up? He took one step forward, right into Gary’s personal space. “Oh, yeah, like I made you sleep with him, right?”

“Jim, please.” Gary held up his hands, placing them carefully on Jim’s biceps. “I’m sorry, this isn’t--look, this is just like how all your other relationships go. You get involved, you get busy, you completely ignore them.” Gary gripped him tighter. “It’s a pattern with you. You have no skills to make priorities or compartmentalize. It’s all or nothing with you. And until you learn how to balance your life, Jim, your relationships are always going to end up like this.” Gary let go. “However, it’s also what makes you a damn good documentary filmmaker. All that passion gets directed away from the person you love and into your work.” He gave Jim a soft smile as he touched Jim’s cheek with his fingertips. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough to keep that passion directed toward me. Someday, I hope you’ll find someone who is.” 

All the words he wanted to throw in Gary’s face, all the evidence of his love for Gary, all the anger bled away, and he sagged as he realized there was truth in what Gary said. “Gary--”

“No. Don’t. I’m fine. I hope you will be too.” And with that, Gary leaned in and gave Jim a quick, chaste kiss, then turned and walked away.

Jim stood in the middle of the coffee shop, just staring at Gary’s retreating figure. “That was harsh, dude,” he heard from behind him.

“What?”

Dawaine, the dredd-locked bus boy, was looking at Jim and then at the door. “Dude just handed you your ass, right here in the middle of the store. Didn’t have the decency to do it at home or something.” He had a moue of distaste on his face.

Jim gave him a weak grin. “Maybe he wanted to make sure I didn’t cut his head off with a butcher knife or something.”

Dawaine’s eyes grew wide. “Would you do that, man?”

Jim barked a short laugh and clapped Dawaine on the shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know now, huh?”

He turned and followed the same path out of the door and into the San Francisco winter, leaving Dawaine to ponder if one of their favorite customers really had it in him to kill someone.

*~*

“So what else did he say, sweetie?”

Jim paced up and down in the small editing room. “He told me his cheating on me was my fault.”

Nyota Uhura snorted. “That is just so Gary. He’s like that, always passing the buck, or, in this case, passing blame from himself to you. God, I could just smack him. Next time I see him, remind me to do that.” She crossed her arms in disgust.

Jim smiled at his fiercely loyal partner. Nyota Uhura hadn’t always held him in such high regard. Oh no. When first they met, at a student mixer in the graduate filmmaker school, Jim, admittedly, had acted like an ass; a big, mostly drunken one. But Jim couldn’t help himself because, God, she was just so _gorgeous_ and he wanted her to notice him, and that had totally backfired. She had looked on him like he was a low-life and that set the tone for their relationship for the next year.

Until that time in class when Jim Kirk supported her viewpoint on the role of documentary film in American cinema. He had meant it and the look she gave him was one of such gratitude that he knew he’d finally gotten into her good graces. After class they met for coffee, talking through the afternoon about their favorite documentaries and filmmakers as well as their hopes and dreams for the future. And that was the start of Enterprise Films. 

“So then what happened?” she asked.

“He walked out.” Jim leaned against the editing desk and hung his head. “Goddammit, Nyota. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I keep a relationship going long term? Is it me? Is it the job? What?”

Jim’s heartbreak filled his handsome features. Nyota was moved to rise from her chair to embrace him. “I’m so sorry, Jim. I really am.” She hugged him closely. “Look, maybe Gary wasn’t the right person for you. He’s a 9-to-5’er; he never understood that making a film takes hours and hours of work at odd times. We have deadlines to make and grants to track and sponsors to answer to.” She hugged him hard once again, then patted his back. “Speaking of which, we need to do the next round of invoices for the Ford Foundation.”

Jim sighed. _No time to brood, asshole. Work to be done._ “Right. And we need to cut another trailer for them.”

Nyota sat at the console and pulled up several files on the large Mac screen. Jim sat beside her, shuffling through the stack of time cards, oral history release forms, expense vouchers and lists of digital files. “Here,” he said, pointing at their master file list, “be sure to add this bit starting at 12:45. It was dynamite stuff.”

“Oh, you’re right, that was good,” she replied. Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she input the information. The screen filled with the image of a young man.

Jim watched, his mind only partially engaged with the footage they’d filmed for the project that had consumed so much of their lives over the past year. Archival research, tracking down sources and convincing them to talk about their experiences, editing, re-mixing, writing the master narrative--all of it took time and energy, time stolen from personal relationships and energy re-directed from maintaining a life beyond work. When they started Enterprise Films they were determined to keep it small, just the two of them, a production team and a field crew. They wanted to retain total control over the research, the message, the way in which their conclusions were presented--everything. Their contracts with sponsors were very specific about Jim and Nyota demanding that level of independence with their project. And it paid off in the form of awards and critical success and project sponsorship for years to come. This film had been particularly time-consuming, but ultimately, one of the most satisfying ones yet. Jim was proud of it, proud of Nyota’s brilliant writing, proud of his entire team’s effort.

But to what end? He wanted to have love and someone to spend his life with. _IS it possible to have meaningful work and a life outside that work?_

He rubbed his hands over his face and looked down blearily into the pile of work before him. They were in the home stretch--just final touch-ups, a trailer for the foundation, a final report that wasn’t due until mid-January. Then, they’d present the film to the foundation in February. Then onto the next project.

But for now. . .god, he was so tired. So wrung out. Every part of him hurt, especially his heart. Since they were close to finishing and it was the holidays. . . .

“Hey, what’re you doing for Christmas?” he asked suddenly.

“Christmas?” Nyota replied, distracted. “Um...I’m staying here.” She clicked and dragged a section of the file to the editor. “Family is here. Mama and Papa will be here, staying at my brother’s in Oakland. Why?”

“Well, I don’t really want to go to Iowa.” Jim stood and started pacing again. “My mom was here for Thanksgiving and you remember what a clusterfuck that was.” Jim loved his mom, but trying to work and entertain her was. . .well, Jim didn’t want to think about that again. “Besides, I already sent her the family gifts. Now that Gary is gone . . .” He stopped and closed his eyes. _Dammit_. He took a deep breath and started again, “Now that I’m free again, I think I’m gonna get away. Go some place different. Different people, different things to do, different scene.”

Nyota looked away from the computer, and gave him a bright smile. “I think that’s a great idea. I was hoping you’d want to take some time off. I haven’t seen my parents in a while and I’m hoping we can go as a family to Las Vegas or something.” She reached for his hand, which he gladly gave her. “Let’s finish this tonight, and take some time off, okay? Go away, Jim. Get your head, and your heart, on straight and we’ll start back on this right after the new year. Okay?”

Jim gave her hand a squeeze. “Agreed. You’re the best, Ny.”

“Of course I am. And I’m gonna prove that to you right now by making the most awesome trailer. So sit your skinny ass down, and help me.” She turned back to the computer screen and moved the mouse to the file.

Jim smiled as he picked up the master file list. She really was the best.

~~*~~

“Spock?” Leonard waved a print out as he strode into Spock’s lab. “What the hell is this?”

Spock straightened, turning away from the computer screen to regard Leonard with a stony dispassion. “I can only answer your query if you would kindly stop flapping the paper at me so that I can see it.”

Leonard pulled up short, two steps from Spock’s desk, and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at his friend. No one else would be able to see it, but something was eating at Spock. His normally immaculate desk was still tidy, but, for Spock, it was bordering on chaos. Frowning in concern, he tossed the report onto the desk as he pulled up a chair.

“This has typos in it, Spock. And the figures are out of order.” Leonard refrained from saying any more. “Are you sick?”

“Leonard.” Spock’s voice held a faint vibration, a barely discernible quaver that only Leonard could have detected.

“Spock, you all right? What happened?” Leaning forward, Leonard touched Spock’s forearm. “Are your parents okay?”

Spock slumped. “My parents are well,” he answered, face turned down.

“Then what? Why’re you here? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I had an insight that I wanted to verify.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Spock. You can’t get away with it, not with me. I _know_ you.”

“Very well.” Spock straightened, his inflection deadening, losing all tonality. “Leila left. She and Mark are moving to an artists’ commune in Nova Scotia.”

“Sonuva--” Leonard started, but caught himself. His righteous fury wasn’t going to help Spock right now. He crowded closer, but Spock wouldn’t meet his eye, and softened his tone. “I’m sorry, Spock.”

Spock stiffened, his gaze shifting to the window.

Leonard ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “Look, you may not want to hear this, but I gotta be honest. I don’t think Leila was that good for you. She’s been dragging you down, messing with your head... and your heart. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but I’m betting this will be a good thing.”

“A good thing?” Spock rounded on Leonard.

“I mean later, when the hurt isn’t so bad.” Leonard groped for the right words to explain. “Sometimes, without us knowing it, we get into a routine, get into a relationship where we’re not happy. Not exactly slit-your-wrists miserable, but not in a good place.”

“And how would you know this? Your marriage--”

Leonard held up his hand. “Isn’t the point. All I know is that you’re not the same. Hell, we haven’t done one of our fishing trips to the cabin in ages,” he sighed, knowing he was probably fucking this up royally. Talking to Spock about emotions required precision. “She’s been sucking the life out of you, so I say good riddance!”

“You truly believe that?” Spock asked and Leonard nodded. 

“I think it’ll turn out for the best. You’ll see.” Leonard didn’t say how fervently he hoped there were still happy endings out there.

Spock cocked his head. He didn’t crack a smile, but his dark eyes were no longer flat and lifeless. “Thank you, Leonard.”

“Don’t. We’re friends, Spock. You’ve been propping me up for awhile now. It’s about time I returned the favor.” Leonard tugged Spock into a quick, hard guy hug, laughing as Spock awkwardly patted Leonard’s back. “‘Sides, this report is shit and you’re on vacation. Let me at least get you drunk to celebrate.”

“I do not think--”

“Poor choice of words. I meant, let’s go drown our sorrows.”

Spock looked about the room and was about to argue. But Leonard wasn’t having it. “Just stop right there. This is _required._ And it’s only logical.”

“How is it logical to consume copious amounts of alcohol which is a depressant when one is already melancholic?”

Leonard pulled at Spock’s arm. “It’s logical to hold a wake for the death of a relationship. It’s called ‘closure’, Spock. And don’t argue with me. We’re going to Sweet Georgia’s and you’re going to get shit faced, probably cry, then move on.”

“That is your prescription for a broken heart?”

“Doctor’s orders and lots of experience.” Leonard gave him a smile. “C’mon, Spock. You’ve spent so much time looking after me the past few years, let me do this for you.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

~~*~~

Jim stared at the computer screen. He needed a vacation, but it’d been so long since he’d taken one, let alone planned one himself... he swallowed thickly. He was not going to think about Gary Mitchell. Not when that ass was the reason that he needed a fucking vacation in the first place!

The web was remarkably unforgiving, offering him too many singles cruises or all inclusive vacations at places that he couldn’t… wouldn’t return to. He had enough reminders of Gary without vacationing where they’d shared happier times. It was difficult to think that he and Gary were done. Through. Their relationship vanishing quietly like the fog that burned off over the bay. No fireworks, just blink and you miss it gone. 

What kind of asshole was he that he didn’t even notice that Gary’d moved out?

Jim took a long, shuddery breath and started another search. He was determined to get away, to take time for himself, and to finally be alone with his thoughts. Figure out his head and heart.

The house rentals looked promising, but he honestly didn’t have the heart for exotic locales. He wanted simple. Easy. Domestic. Something far enough away, but still close enough that he could return if things imploded without him. He still couldn’t let go.

Sad thing was early on he and Gary had been living apart, in separate cities, each so busy establishing their careers that they ended up meeting ‘in the middle’ and blazed a trail through most major US cities, leaving Vegas, Seattle, Chicago, NYC, and even Santa Fe off limits, not to mention Miami and LA.

And Jim definitely didn’t want to stay at a remote ranch in Wyoming! He was no Brokeback Mountain cowboy. He snorted and kept scrolling. There were some beautiful places on offer, but none of them… hold on! A cottage in Savannah.

He’d never set foot in the south and had to admit that the picture of the place was gorgeous, nestled in a quiet, tree-lined street, a riotous garden out front, the place was... quaint. Cozy. So unlike his own loft which was all wide open, high ceilings, large windows with the bay glittering in the distance. Still, it sounded right up his alley, the perfect distance for… what day was it even?

Jim looked at the calendar and shook his head. Mid-December. The cottage wasn’t available until after New Year’s. Of course not. Who wanted to leave a picture postcard home during the holidays?

He continued perusing the site until a condo in Atlanta caught his eye. It was quite simply gorgeous. Not as large as Jim’s loft, but elegantly appointed with a wall of windows. He’d be in downtown Atlanta, close to everything. Much more his style.

He clicked on the contact owner box and began typing…

_JTK81: Is your condo available for rental? And soon? If so, you’d be a real lifesaver. If you are interested, please contact me._

Almost immediately his laptop pinged with a reply.

_SS77: I am extremely interested, but the condo is only available for home exchange._

“Home exchange?” Jim thought.

_SS77: We switch houses, cars, everything. I have not done it previously, but associates of mine have._

_SS77:Where are you?_

Jim perked up. He was seriously considering this, trading his life for another’s. All to get away from Gary… from the memory of Gary.

_JTK81: San Francisco._

_SS77: I have never been, but I have always wanted to visit the Bay Area._

_SS77: I am Spock._

_SS77: I am normal. Very meticulous, neat, non-smoker. I do have a cat, Linus. And I am single. Newly so._

_JTK81: I’m Jim. I’m normal-ish, maybe a bit of a workaholic. Also newly single and not allergic to cats._

_JTK81: I think your condo looks like just what I need. Far removed from my life._

_SS77: Thank you. I find it... convenient and surprisingly serene. You wish a break from your newly single life?_

_JTK81: Yes._

_SS77: I understand. All too well. What does your place look like?_

_JTK81: Larger than yours._

_SS77: That is... surprising._

_JTK81: But it’s home. A converted loft with a spectacular view. I like it._

_SS77: I confess to being... intrigued._

_JTK81: Can I ask you one question?_

_SS77: Of course._

_JTK81: I’m gay. Will that be a problem?_

_JTK81: In Atlanta, I mean?_

_SS77: Being gay in Atlanta no longer carries the same stigma that it once did. Are you interested in the ‘gay scene’?_

Jim grimaced. He hadn’t been effectively single in a long time, but it’d been even longer since he thought of being on the hunt. Sighing, he answered Spock. He missed the _idea_ of Gary, the sense that he was part of a couple, that he had a sure thing and didn’t have to deal with the club scene, or any scene, but he couldn’t summon up the actual feeling of missing _Gary._ He really was a dick.

_JTK81: No! Most definitely not. Maybe never again._

_SS77: When would you like to schedule the exchange?_

Jim stared at the screen. Before he could back out, he typed.

_JTK81: Tomorrow too soon?_

Spock did not answer for the longest time and Jim began to re-think his question. He _had_ sprung this on the guy.

_SS77: Tomorrow would be acceptable._

Jim smiled, relieved and excited.

_JTK81: Awesome! We’re on!_

_JTK81: Thank you, Spock._

_SS77: My pleasure, Jim. I find myself anticipating the next two weeks._

And so did Jim.


	2. A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step

Jim’s flight was turbulent and even he, a seasoned flier, joined in with the other passengers’ triumphant applause once they’d landed safely. Not that he doubted the pilot’s skill... or much, anyway. But the violent lurching and the sickening drops had been tough to bear. It would have been the ultimate irony if he’d died in a plane crash -- Gary’s name was still on the condo -- when it was Gary’s fault that he was on the plummeting plane.

Jim swallowed as the cab made its way through the Atlanta traffic. His thoughts were uncharitable at best, downright bitter at the worst. He sighed and dropped his head to the leather car seat. He was unsettled and uncomfortable. It was the thick air, as much as the harrowing plane flight. He’d left a cool, crisp December morning to arrive in an early evening heavy with foreboding. Dark clouds blotted out the sunset, the western sky taking on an ominous grey-green, a thunderstorm, or worse, coming.

Light flashed, illuminating the dry streets, the way leaves and debris swirled through the rapidly emptying downtown. Then thunder crashed. Jim was unprepared for the whole car to shudder and he nearly jumped out of his skin. The cabbie grinned in the mirror. “Just a thunderstorm, mister. Nothing to be scared of.”

“Really? We don’t have thunderstorms in San Francisco,” Jim glared, his tone sarcastic. “Keep your eyes on the road.” It might have been a long time, but Jim had grown up on the plains of Iowa.

Luckily for Jim they arrived at Spock’s high-rise before the storm broke. Jim received the keys and a packet with details from the concierge. He was inordinately grateful to have arrived all in one piece when the elevator deposited him on the twenty-fifth floor and he stepped into Spock’s meticulous domain.

He whistled aloud. Biochemists must make damn good money.

Before he got three steps into the expanse of cream and beige, a fuzzy blur shot out in front of him, nearly tripping him and making him swear aloud. He clutched at his heart and glared at the black tabby who was eying him suspiciously from the back of the sofa, her (his?) tail twitching rapidly.

Jim bit back the epithet he was ready to hurl at the demon cat when he remembered Spock’s instructions and the fact that Linus basically ruled the roost. Now he understood why. That cat was huge! So, Jim placed his suitcase down carefully, trying not to further antagonize the ball of fur.

Linus hopped down and made his way to the kitchen, looking back at Jim once. Jim got it, he really did. He’d grown up with animals, but it was rather amazing how he’d barely been in the condo for five minutes and already he was doing the damned cat’s bidding. Sighing, he followed Linus into the kitchen. At least Linus cared if he lived or died, even if it was just to feed him.

*~*

The storm broke against the windows, rain and wind lashing the glass and making the whole building shudder. That made Jim slightly nervous. He was used to thunderstorms on the plains or earthquakes at home, but not this -- being in one of the highest points in the sky during a particularly vicious storm.

He unpacked to the strobe of lightning, added his chaos to Spock’s immaculate order, the colorful riot of Jim’s clothes and toiletries out of place in the monochrome landscape of Spock’s bed and bath. He dove onto the bed, thoroughly rumpling it before toeing his shoes off and tossing the blinds wide in the bedroom. After extinguishing all but the bedside lamp, he stared out into the dark sky, watched the lightning streak across the sky and listened to the echo of thunder reverberating through the silent room. Wrapping his arms around himself, an unfamiliar emptiness began to bloom in his chest.

He turned from the storm and explored the condo further. Besides the master, living and kitchen, there was a spare bedroom with an elliptical cross trainer and one solid wall of books. He ran his fingers along the spines, reading random titles. Spock’s interests were varied, but most of the titles were non-fiction, scientific or medical in origin. There was a lower shelf filled with romances... (bodice rippers, really, Spock?) and modern biographies. Those did not seem in keeping with Spock, but you never knew, right?

Spock’s television armoire was disappointing, especially to a movie fanatic like Jim. What kind of man only had a 32” television set and basic cable without a blu-ray player or game console? At least the stereo did not disappoint. The sound from the Bang and Olufsen speakers spread throughout the condo, filling the rooms with the warm, rich tones of Holst’s “The Planets”, _’Mars’_ war-like crescendo keeping time with the lightning.

Jim crashed onto the sofa, mourning his movie collection and huge projection television. After sitting and fidgeting for a few more minutes, he wandered back to the spare bedroom and to the wall of books, couldn’t decide between Darwin’s “On the Origin of Species” or Dawkins’ “The Blind Watchmaker”. He’d heard of both and was unsurprised that a biochemist would have them on his bookshelf, but Jim himself hadn’t read either. Wasn’t all that interested in science, that was Nyota’s thing. His passion had always been film and, specifically, film used to highlight injustice in the world, the plight of the downtrodden. In short, Gary’s first impression of him as a modern day Don Quixote fighting an uphill battle against the system was not far from the truth.

A wailing shriek blared from Spock’s bedroom startling him. As he made his way toward the sound, the lights blinked and went off, leaving him in darkness except for the flashes from the windows. He swallowed, instantly unsettled, but kept making his way slowly toward the noise. The radio was blasting a weather alert, a tornado warning in the vicinity. At home in Iowa, they’d just head for the cellar, but here, he was twenty-five stories in the sky. 

After finding a flashlight in the kitchen by the light of his cell phone, he pocketed both the keys to the condo and to Spock’s car, then called for Linus, but the cat didn’t come. He went back into the bedroom and looked around but still didn’t see him. He waited a few more minutes, and then decided Linus probably could take care of himself. Locking up, he made for the stairs. After descending five floors by emergency lighting, the lights flared back on, nearly blinding him. He exited and took the elevator the rest of the way down, too unnerved to return. 

By the time he hit the street the sirens had stopped and the storm was abating. It was still raining, but Jim lived in the Bay area, he could deal with a little water.

He returned with nothing but junk food -- just what kind of town was he in? Liquor stores closed at nine? It was going to be one of ‘those’ nights.

There was nothing on the television but Christmas movies and utterly depressing ‘romances’, if you could call “P.S. I Love You” and “The Time Traveler’s Wife” romances. Jim called them not what he needed on a rainy night when he was all alone. He related just a little too much to Holly and Clare right now.

Books tossed aside as incomprehensible, television off to save his heart, and that left... nothing to do. Jim looked at the large deco clock over the dining room table -- it wasn’t even ten back home. He switched the music, hunting for something, when the soulful refrain of Lena Horne’s “Stomy Weather” made him stop. How ironic. He leaned against the window, staring unseeing into the rainy night as the music swept over him.

A quick search revealed an amply stocked liquor cabinet, so Jim settled onto the sofa with a tumbler of bourbon and “The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo”. Far more his style than Darwin. He was soon joined by a large, purring ball of fur whose claws tended to get too near tender places. Still, it was nice to have a warm cat curled up in his lap.

After three separate aborted attempts to get into the story, and three trips to the liquor cabinet, each one making Linus grumble, Jim switched from jazz to alt rock, volume low. Even with the music, the condo was too quiet, with nothing but the soft whoosh of the central heat and the steady patter of the rain on the windows. Jim’s loft was never quiet; between the busy neighborhood and the constant stream of people, he was rarely alone. 

And why had he believed he needed to be alone? 

It was nearly Christmas and here he was in an unfamiliar city in a rain storm. The only thing that would make this better was if he was snuggled under a blanket, warm body pressed to his back, arms around him... _’This SUCKS.’_

Swallowing the last of the bourbon, he unpacked his laptop onto the dining room table and began to google gay bars before getting cold feet. He should have asked Spock for recommendations.

He was so out of practice.

At least if he was home, he’d have some idea where to find company, knew enough to be safe. Here, in the South? He was quite frankly terrified of even trying. He wanted to go home, wanted to talk to Nyota, wanted to be among the familiar. 

The airline’s website was accommodating. So what if Spock was at his place? He could crash in a hotel or at Nyota’s. Wouldn’t be the first time he had. And her asshole boyfriend was away so there’d be no snide comments tossed his way.

With a few more clicks, he finished up and closed the laptop. “Let’s hit the hay, Linus.”

The cat trailed after him to the bedroom. “Just think, you’ll have the place to yourself soon enough.”

Jim got ready for bed, melancholy bitterness closing his throat as he climbed into the luxurious bed and snuggled into the expensive linens. At least he’d get a good night’s sleep.

~~*~~

The shuttle from the airport was filled with children. Ordinarily, Spock didn’t mind children, though small ones were something of a mystery. He could not imagine not being able to communicate needs, though logically, he knew he indeed had been a small, uncommunicative child at one time.

He looked down at the small, blond boy seated next to him in a booster seat. He clutched a book in both hands; there were large, colorful graphics and simple strings of words below them. “Are you enjoying your storybook?” Spock asked. 

The little boy nodded, but didn’t raise his head.

“The pictures are well drawn and the colors are vibrant.” At that, the boy did look at him. Spock noticed he had luminous green eyes, just like Joanna McCoy’s, round and large and bright. “I have a young friend at home who would like your book as well. Though, in truth, Joanna is reading at a much higher level.”

The boy just stared and then looked back down at the book. Spock’s words seemed to have no effect on him.

“He’s only four,” the woman behind him said.

“I meant no criticism of your son’s reading ability,” Spock replied, turning a little to regard the boy’s parent. “The young girl I referenced has been placed in the top percentiles for her age. At age six, she is reading many years beyond her chronological one.

The woman gave him a thin smile. “Of course she is, dear. Everyone brags on their children.”

“I am not bragging,” Spock insisted, his eyebrow raised. “I am merely stating the outcome of metrical evaluations.” He turned again. “And she is not my daughter, but the child of a close colleague.”

The woman nodded and looked away, attending to another child. Her son continued to peacefully look at the pictures. Spock thought about the encounter and what Leonard would have said or done. Perhaps he should not have engaged the young boy in conversation about the book. Leonard always told him that being honest was not always prudent or helpful or necessary. He could not be anything other than honest, but Leonard thought those who didn’t know him well might take his honesty as criticism. “The less you say to the general populace, the better, Spock,” Leonard had said. He had said it after rescuing Spock from a group of very large and irate men who rode motorcycles, after he had observed that their bragging over the size of their vehicles were in no way related to the size of their genitals. It was a most illogical discussion, as he had pointed out, but they had taken exception to his attempts to direct their conversation to the...logical. Leonard had whisked them away from the tavern and driven directly to their jointly owned mountain cabin, refusing to leave during their long weekend, except to drive back to Atlanta. 

A shadow passed over his face and he realized their shuttle had entered the city. He’d heard so much about San Francisco, of course, knew it had lovely architecture, great museums and other magnificent cultural attractions. He believed he felt a shimmer of what could quite possibly be excitement. The shuttle labored up Telegraph Hill, around the museum, and plunged into another canyon of tall buildings. 

Another couple of turns and the driver was calling out, “Pine Street!” Spock raised his head, and replied loudly, “This is my stop.”

The driver efficiently dodged the mid-afternoon traffic and pulled to the curb. Spock reached down to gather his coat and brief case. 

“You leaving?” The young boy was looking at him again, book in his lap. 

“Yes, I am. We have arrived at my destination.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.” He stopped, then said, “You will find that reading is the greatest adventure you can go on. I wish you many happy ones.”

The little boy nodded but did not speak again. Spock stepped gingerly over the young boy’s legs and then his sister’s, then slowly inched his way out of the van. He took a deep breath in once he had finally stepped on the pavement. The driver had his black leather suitcase waiting for him on the sidewalk. “1150 Pine, right?”

“That is correct,” Spock said, looking around. The wind whipped through the buildings and around the cars. “I thank you for your assistance.”

Spock turned and entered the building. He stepped through a plainly furnished Art deco-style lobby with chrome and colorful ceramic tile accents. It was beautiful in its simplicity, something Spock highly approved of. He checked in with the doorman, who handed over an envelope containing keys and other instructions Jim said Spock would find useful for the week. He chatted with the elderly man for a few moments, giving him his cell phone number, email and other personal information. 

“I hope you have a nice visit to our fair city,” the doorman said. “The weather is always unpredictable, so I hope you brought a rain coat and an umbrella. And a hat.”

“Why would I need an umbrella and a hat?” Spock queried. “My head would be adequately protected by either.”

“Because when there’s rain, there’s usually wind.” The man smiled compassionately at him. “You’ll need both, believe you me.”

Spock thought for a moment about the advice the man was kindly offering him. _Leonard would say that I should thank him and not say anything else. But what he is saying is illogical._ “Thank you, sir. I shall look for a hat in Jim’s apartment before I leave to site-see in the morning.”

The man gave him a nod. “Would you like any help with your bags?”

Spock picked up his briefcase and the handle to his rolling suitcase. “That is not necessary. I can handle all of my belongings satisfactorily.”

“Well, then, have a nice night.”

The elevator took him to the top floor after he entered the code into the keypad. It was a relatively short ride, only seven floors up. The door slid aside and Spock looked into Jim Kirk’s loft apartment.

The space was large and unencumbered by walls. Unlike most loft apartments he’d seen in Baltimore and Atlanta, the windows were not floor-to-ceiling. For sure, the windows were large but were encased by beautiful cedar framing and had sleek, modern blinds. The furniture was eclectic and comfortable, bright colors warring with a dizzying array of patterns. At the other end of the space there was a kitchen separated by a large wood and tile counter with tall bar chairs. A light over the cooktop glowed softly, its light reflecting in the stainless steel cabinetry.

Spock entered the apartment and turned on lamps as he moved through. The more he saw, the more he was impressed and felt--well, not _at home_ , but comfortable. At ease. Despite the riot of color, Jim Kirk had a sense of order to his living space, one that he valued. To his right he saw a staircase leading up to a loft where he presumed the bedroom was located; ahead he saw another loft over the kitchen area and wondered if that would be another bedroom as well.

He took the nearest stairs and found that it was not a bedroom, but a working space. There were several monitors, two state-of-the-art Mac computers with gleaming white screens, a large console with many small dials and mounted on the wall, two large plasma screen television. Two desks and a wall of shelving crammed with books, papers and other items completed the area.

Spock had learned during his online contact with Kirk that he was a filmmaker who worked from his home. The office was mostly tidy, though the desks were stacked with files and books, giving the impression of restrained chaos. Spock turned and left it as it was.

The sleeping loft was just as generous in size as Kirk’s work area but was draped with soft curtains that hung from the ceiling. The bedroom was warm, as it should be since heat rose, and Spock immediately appreciated the physics and the practicality of such an architectural feature in a large apartment. He unpacked his clothing into the drawers Jim had cleared for him, hung his shirts and sports jacket in the armoire, placed his toiletries in the spacious bathroom, and then stashed his bags neatly between the dresser and writing desk. He was also impressed with the bookcase stuffed with books in a wide variety of genres and notebooks of different styles and sizes. He pulled one out and flipped it open; the page was filled with handwriting in green ink. Recognizing it might be a personal journal, he carefully put it back in its slot.

Spock descended once again to the main area to the kitchen. Jim had told him he’d stock the refrigerator with some staples--fruit and vegetables and drink. He opened a bottle of water and took a seat at the bar.

Jim had chosen to decorate his walls with photographs, lots of them. Some were large, but most were of standard sizes and grouped according to subject: people, nature, buildings, some abstract. Spock walked slowly past the images, examining them closely. Some were signed by others, but most did not have any names on them. He stopped in front of two photographs that hung over a table. Both had Jim Kirk in them, though a younger Jim Kirk than the one he had Skyped with the day before. In one Jim was standing beside a woman who resembled him strongly--same small nose, wide eyes, high cheekbones and light hair--and a boy about the same size, though with darker hair. The other was Jim in graduation regalia, embracing the comeliest young women he’d ever seen. She had long dark hair, gorgeous almond-shaped eyes and a bright smile. She, too, had a mortar board on her head, and both were smiling broadly. Obviously a dear friend, a cherished one.

And for the second time in as many days, a frisson of jealousy passed through Spock’s body.

*~*

The morning started with Spock overlooking the thick light grey blanket of fog covering the cityscape before him. He found meteorological events fascinating and spent the next half-hour meditating in front of the big window open to Jim’s bedroom. It was a satisfying and refreshing session. Having renewed his spirit, he was energized and then decided to use Jim’s exercise area for a brief period of resistance training. He passed up the treadmill, knowing he would be walking all over the city soon enough.

After warming up his body with physical activity, he checked the refrigerator, finding Jim had kindly stocked soy milk and tofu. He made a smoothie in Jim’s very chic and modern Waring blender. Spock himself used a Hamilton Beach that he’d picked up at a student dorm sale during his university days. Jim’s blender, though, was very nice.

Fortified, Spock was satisfied to see that the fog was dissipating and the sun breaking through the clouds to shine weakly on the city. He washed his glass, then briskly climbed the stairs to the bedroom area. He didn’t want to waste a moment of sunshine.

*~*

Hours later, Spock returned. He’d had a busy day, visiting two museums (art and science), Fisherman’s Wharf, and the Presidio. He had booked passage for the next day to visit Alcatraz; he planned to possibly visit the Golden Gate Bridge center, if time permitted.

On his way back to the loft, he stopped by a grocery store and was delighted to find they had a very nice Kosher section as well as many options for a vegan diet. He purchased several items to make himself dinner, and a box of Menorah candles since it was the final night of Chanukkah. It would not be the first time he’d celebrated the holiday on his own.

Entering the building he checked in with the evening doorman, and started towards the elevator where he passed a man laden with many bags of groceries. “May I assist you?”

“You can hit the up button on the elevator,” he replied. “Much obliged.”

When the elevator opened, Spock allowed the silver-haired gentleman to enter first. He was tall and slender, but looked tired. Spock weighed his options, going through the mental checklist of things Leonard had told him were proper to ask in this situation, and decided there was only one answer. “May I take a bag or two?” Spock asked. “You seem to be especially burdened.”

“Ah, you’re right on that score, buddy,” the man said. “These two are the worst.”

Spock placed his own grocery bag on the floor, and shouldered the canvas bags. They were heavy and packed tightly. “It seems your bagger did not adequately distribute the weight of your purchases.”

“Eh, not her fault. Told the girl to get everything in the cloth bags so I didn’t have to deal with any plastic.”

Spock approved of such a strategy. “Perhaps you should have brought help.”

“Well, now, it looks like I have.” The man’s blue eyes twinkled. “Here we are.”

They exited on the third floor and turned left, walking just a short distance to the door. The man put down his bag, pulled out his keys, and opened the door.

The apartment looked nothing like Jim’s. Whereas Jim’s space had splashes of color and light, this one was furnished in warm earth-tones and had indirect lighting and long, closed draperies. Soft classical music came from the living area, but the man led Spock into a small kitchen. 

“I’m Phil Boyce, by the way. Who might you be?” the man asked as they entered.

“I am Spock, of Atlanta, Georgia,” Spock replied, following. He set the bags carefully on the counter and began to unpack them.

“Southern boy, eh? I lived in Atlanta for a long, long time.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Boyce. To answer your query, I am not originally from Georgia. I only sound like it. ” It was the standard joke Leonard taught him when asked where he lived.

The older man looked at him with wide eyes, then threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Son, if that’s a Georgia accent, I will eat fried pork rinds.”

Spock allowed a ghost of a smile to grace his lips because it truly was an amusing remark. He knew how much some southerners enjoyed cracklings; he himself would never touch the things.

“‘Course then I’d be in big trouble since it’s a violation of my diet. Oops, pardon me, my eating plan.” Phil shook his head.

Spock set to work unpacking the second bag. “I concur. Eating the fried skin of pigs is...an...abomin--Mr. Boyce, are you by chance Jewish?” Spock’s eyes grew wide at the jar of gelfite fish in his hand, and the box of Chanukkah candles in Phil’s.

“Please, call me Phil. I’m not, but my partner is. Chris’s mama was Jewish, his daddy is an Episcopalian. But we’ve always celebrated the first and last nights of Chanukkah as well as Christmas. Sometimes they overlap, like this year. Why? You a member of the tribe?”

“I am indeed. Though my own heritage comes through the Sephardic line.”

Boyce squinted at him. “Yeah, you look like you’re from the Mediterranean region. Can’t tell, not with that Southern drawl.”

Spock took note of the crinkle in Phil’s kind eyes and the upturned corners of his lips. “Ah, you are making a joke.”

Phil snorted and laughed. “Yep.”

“And yet,” Spock ventured, “you yourself do not have a fully realized Georgia accent. There is something else.”

“Ah, you have a good ear,” Phil said, as he placed cold items into the refrigerator. “I’m from Montana. Grew up there, have a place there now, but we’re here during the winter months. Uh, hand me that ice cream, would’ya, please?” Spock handed the older man the carton of mocha ice cream and a can of frozen orange juice. “After all those years in Atlanta, Chris and I decided we needed to be some place that was away from the big city. Built a house up near Glacier Park, in Kalispell. But after two winters there, we decided--well, Chris decided--he didn’t want to shovel snow for eight months of the year, so we come here for the worst of the winter. I can usually talk him into shovelling snow for a few months.”

The warmth in Phil’s voice for his partner was evident, and Spock couldn’t help but want to meet this man. “Leaving the CDC was tough on both of us,” Phil continued, “and we wanted to make sure we gave back and stayed sharp, so he does some consulting work with the Naval base here and I work in the pediatric AIDS unit at S.F. General.”

At the mention of the CDC, Spock looked up sharply and his thoughts sifted through all the information. “Phil Boyce? Are you by chance Dr. Philip Kenneth Boyce? _The_ Doctor Boyce who ran the immunology unit and did the first AIDS studies?”

Phil stuck his head out from the pantry. “That would be me. How’d you--”

“Dr. Boyce, I am the senior research fellow now. And I apologize for not recognizing your name when we met.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He stepped around the door and came up to Spock closely. “I have to admit we haven’t been paying too much attention to the rotation in personnel there lately, but y’all have been putting out some good studies.”

Spock nodded. “My good friend and colleague, Dr. Leonard McCoy, is head of infectious diseases and assistant director of the Medical Division.”

“McCoy? Yeah, he’s up on my radar. You know him?” Phil asked.

“Yes. We are what young people today call B. F. F.s. We both received our doctorates at Johns Hopkins, working in adjacent labs.”

“Well, that’s something.” Phil was smiling now. “Christopher Pike is my partner, Admiral Pike. He ran the CDC for about fifteen years. Say, would you like to join us for dinner tonight? I make a mean brisket.”

Spock was surprised and then incredibly touched by the offer. “I-I would be honored to join you. However, I am a vegan and as such do not eat any animal products.”

Phil’s face fell minutely. “Oh, well. We always have plenty of vegetable sides--mashed potatoes, broccoli stir fry, greens salad, that sort of thing.”

“If I may,” Spock said, “I have provisions for a Chanukkah meal that are appropriate.”

“Really? Well, hey, that’s great. Between the two of us we’ll have a fine dinner.”

“Then I shall make preparations. I have the ingredients for a vegan frittata that provides maximum nutritional value.”

“Hope it doesn’t have tofu in it. Chris hates tofu.”

Spock’s face fell. “Oh, that is the main ingredient.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make him eat it, and he’ll love it.”

“I do not wish to be the cause of discord.”

Phil flapped his hand at Spock. “I’ve been after Chris to try different things for ages. Sounds like you’re quite the chef. Who knows, you might convert him.”

“I hope you both will enjoy this dish. It is one my mother taught me.” 

“Then we shall. And, thank you, Spock. I’m looking forward to our dinner.”

Spock looked around the cozy apartment. “Dr. Boyce, may I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“I notice you have the draperies closed. Is there any reason why you don’t allow natural lighting in?”

Phil strode over to the nearest window and drew back the curtain. The window looked directly into the building next door. “Our neighbors are a little close for comfort. The bedroom overlooks the street, so we’re able to keep those curtains open. But here, definitely not. I mean, not that we do anything to be ashamed of. Just don’t like them watching the nightly news over our shoulders.”

Spock cocked his head. “I see. Perhaps. . . have you seen the view from Jim Kirk’s apartment?”

Phil closed the curtain and walked back to the kitchen. “Nope. Jim’s a nice fellow.  
We meet on the elevator a lot, in the lobby sometimes. He always seems to be in a hurry, though.”

“I believe he has a very busy schedule, yes,” Spock said as Phil unwrapped a piece of beef brisket and set it in a heavy pot on the cooktop.

Spock had a sudden thought. “Dr.--I mean, Phil, before you begin to cook, may I suggest that we have dinner upstairs in Jim’s loft? The view is quite spectacular, especially at night. And the forecast this evening calls for a clear, albeit cold, sky. I very much enjoyed looking at the city and the holiday lights last night, so much so that I went to bed much later than my usual.”

Phil looked thoughtful. “Hmm...that would be nice. Can you see the bay from there?”

“If you angle yourself correctly.”

Phil nodded. “Well, Spock, thank you. I accept, and I’m sure Chris will enjoy it, too.” He looked up to check the clock on the wall. “Speaking of which, he should be home any minute.”

They worked companionably putting up the groceries. “So, how did you meet Jim?”

Spock filled him in on the details of the home swap. 

“And have you met his partner, Nyota Uhura, yet?” Phil asked. “She is one gorgeous woman. Smart as a whip, creative. Seems to be lots of fun. We’ve met her coming and going at all hours. Guess Jim works from home?”

“He does. There is an elaborate editing station.”

Phil whistled low. “I’ve seen several of their films. They’re good, real good. Great investigative instincts, concise. Passionate. Wonder why they aren’t together?”

Spock did a little double-take. “You mean he and his business partner?”

“Yeah.”

Spock didn’t know if he should out Jim to his neighbors or not. But before he could answer, he heard the front door open and close, a set of keys rattle in the large bowl on the table next to the door. “I’m home!”

“In here, Chris,” Phil replied. “Hey, come meet the guy who’s got my job now.”

Spock looked up as Chris, a tall, well-built man with salt-and-pepper hair and a commanding presence, came into the kitchen. “Well, hello. Chris Pike.”

“I am Spock.” They shook hands.

Phil poured water over the brisket and turned up the flame. “You’re never going to believe this, Chris”--he leaned over to accept a quick kiss from his partner--”but Spock and Jim exchanged homes for the holiday.”

“Really? You two been planning this for a while?” Chris asked as he drew a glass of water.

“No, it was a rather impulsive decision on both our parts,” Spock admitted. “My. . .long-time relationship came to an abrupt end recently and I felt the need to get away.”

“Ah, got it,” Chris said. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Spock murmured a soft ‘thank you’ and the three men fell silent, the sizzling of the meat in the pot quietly filling the air. “So did your session go well, Chris?” Phil asked.

“Pretty good. Christine went easy on me for a Chanukkah gift,” Chris said. He snorted. “Like she’d ever go easy on me. I need a shower.” He put the empty glass on the counter. “Spock, I hope I’ll see you again.”

“Oh, we will. We’re celebrating the last night with him in the loft,” Phil added helpfully.

Chris’s smile brightened. “Nice! I look forward to seeing you in a little while. Shall we bring our menorah?”

“Of course,” Spock replied. “I have a small one that has been in my family for many years.”

“The more light the better,” Chris said. “See you soon.” He touched Phil’s back as he exited the kitchen.

“Chris had a stroke last year,” Phil said quietly. “A bad one. Thank God we were here in San Francisco because we were able to administer thrombolytic drugs almost immediately which minimized the damage. He does physical therapy for a slight weakness on his right side.”

“I could not detect any deficiencies.”

“No, not now. Mostly the physical therapy consists of a well-designed weight training program. Christine is a physical therapist and trainer. She’s awesome.”

Spock slid off the bar stool. “I must go and begin preparations.”

“Of course. Chris and I will bring up our part of dinner in about. . .90 minutes enough time?”

“More than. I look forward to sharing the meal with you and Chris.” Spock stopped and stuck out his hand. “Thank you.”

~~*~~

Jim tossed and turned yet again. The clock on the nightstand was quite clearly stuck as it hadn’t moved since the _last_ time he’d glanced at it. The time change had really done a number on him. Flipping to his stomach, he wormed his head under the pillows and began to count sheep. The problem? They all refused to jump the fence and instead sat down at the local bistro, sipping lattes and gossiping about him and Gary.

He groaned and sat up, a squeak leaving his throat when Linus startled and dug his claws into Jim’s thigh. The cat blinked at him, daring him to move again. Jim wasn’t stupid enough to risk his jewels -- those claws were a little too close for comfort -- so he dropped back to the bed, sprawling in supposed memory foam comfort. Too bad his brain wanted to torture him.

Why had he decided this was a good idea? He should be working or, at the least, trying to put his tattered life back together. James T. Kirk did not run away.

He scratched Linus behind the ears, hoping to coax the cat away from his crotch. He succeeded and almost earned a mouthful of fur when the devil cat curled up on his chest, trapping the air in his lungs. What the fuck was Spock feeding him? Miracle Gro?

Before he could take his life into his hands and attempt to move Linus, there was a loud banging on his -- Spock’s -- front door.

_’What the hell?’_

Linus jumped down to investigate and Jim looked around the room for something... a baseball bat, anything. Logically, he knew this was a limited access building. No one without a keycard was getting in, but he wasn’t in his element. He grabbed Spock’s robe and a convenient tennis racket from the closet, slipping into the robe as he approached the door.

The banging continued and he tightened his grip on the tennis racket.

“Dammit, Spock! Open this god-forsaken door! I left my key in the car!”

More banging accompanied the swearing.

Jim peeked through the peep hole to see an unfamiliar man standing outside. He backed away, unsure. Obviously, the guy knew Spock.

He looked down at Linus, who happened to be purring and rubbing along Jim’s ankles. “What do you think?”

Linus’s answering, “MREOW,” was no actual help.

“Spock! I know you’re in there! I’m going to pee in the hallway if you don’t open the fuck up!”

Jim blinked, wondering what kind of friends Spock had. The guy hadn’t seemed like he associated with crazies. Jim took another look through the peep hole, only to pull back, startled, because the guy was pressed against it.

“C’mon, Spock. Please? Don’t torture a guy.”

Linus meowed again and the guy’s voice took on a desperate, pleading tone. Jim’s bladder twinged in sympathy. He opened the door, tennis racket held high.

“About time, dammit!”

The guy burst in and Linus darted through his feet, nearly tripping him and taking them both down. Jim stepped aside and the guy flailed weakly, his fall stopped by the back of Spock’s sofa.

“Shit!”

Jim was left standing there, blinking as the guy righted himself and raced to the bathroom. Linus was sitting on his usual perch, quite unconcerned, licking his paws as though he had planned the whole damn thing.

The door closed with a silent snick and Jim leaned back against it. The guy had been gorgeous, if a bit wild-eyed. But who was he? He puzzled on that for a minute, until tall, dark, and handsome returned, wiping his wet hands on faded jeans.

He stopped one step from Jim, eyes wide, and arresting hazel eyes they were, too.

“You’re... you’re not... where the hell’s Spock?” His accent was all long vowels and dreamy, warm drawl, and Jim inhaled sharply.

“He’s in San Francisco.”

“What? That’s not possible. Spock never goes anywhere.”

“Guess he changed his mind,” Jim found himself swaying with his visitor, eyes glued to the man’s plush lips.

The man rocked, leaning closer. “I may throw up on ya’.”

Jim reached out, steadying him. “You’ll be fine. Ummm, who are you exactly?” he asked. The guy was hot, an answer to Jim’s prayers. Almost.

The man swayed toward Jim again. “Oh, right, sorry. I’m McCoy. Leonard McCoy. Spock’s best friend.” He looked around, obviously confused before turning those enthralling eyes back to Jim.

“What did you say your name was?” Confused, he peered at Jim from under drawn brows.

“Kirk, Jim Kirk. Spock listed his condo on a home exchange website. We traded houses for two weeks. He’s staying at my loft in San Francisco and I’m here...” As the words left his mouth, it dawned on Jim that he was in nothing but his boxer briefs and a thin robe, which he clutched more tightly around himself.

“Do people actually do that?” Leonard wavered. “This?” He waved his hand at Jim and in the air vaguely. “Swap homes?”

“Apparently. Here I am... in my pajamas.” Jim grew even more self-conscious.

“Huh.” Leonard shook his head and listed close yet again. “That must have been Spock’s message... Shit! I feel bad not answering. Can we maybe sit down? I seem to be magnetized to you... or maybe the floor is tilting?”

Jim smiled, but he didn’t mind Leonard’s warmth leaning on him. “Yeah, sure.”

Leonard flopped down onto the sofa, Linus immediately hopping into his lap, as he tipped, then righted himself.

“You okay?” Jim asked.

“‘M fine.” Leonard was absently stroking Linus. “Join me? I’m getting a crick looking up at you.”

“You’ve obviously been here before. I guess I’m safe.” Jim sat on the sofa at a careful distance from Leonard, even if he was envying Linus at the moment. His eyes were glued to the way Leonard petted Linus. Leonard had large hands, long, capable, manicured fingers sliding through Linus’ thick fur.

“You sure? That tennis racket says different.”

Jim glanced sheepishly at the racket which he had set beside the couch. “You were making quite the scene.”

The guy... Leonard dropped his head to the back of the sofa. “I was, wasn’t I? Sorry ‘bout that. And for intruding. So how’s the house swap thing going?”

Jim shook his head and looked down at his bare feet. “Not so good. I jumped without looking... and...” he looked up, gave Leonard a crooked, awkward smile. “Gonna leave tomorrow.”

“When did you arrive?”

Jim glanced at the large deco clock on the wall and sighed. “About ten hours ago.”

“Whoa. Guess you ran afoul of our vaunted Southern hospitality.” Leonard seemed genuinely regretful.

“Nah, it’s not that. I don’t know why the hell I did it, not like me at all.” He stood up, the jittery feeling in his chest returning. “Take my advice. Do not make travel arrangements in the heat of the moment.”

“Ooo-kay.”

Jim glanced around the room suddenly at a loss for words, grateful when Leonard started speaking again. 

“So, Spock lets me crash here sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“I live in the ‘burbs, but work here... so...”

Leonard scrabbled a hand through his hair, a lock of it falling back into his face. “If I have a few too many... just better for me to sleep here than drive.” He straightened and looked Jim in the eye, something almost sad in those hazel depths. It was gone in an instant, but Jim was sure he hadn’t imagined it and he wanted to know more, wanted to kiss and be kissed by this unexpected arrival.

“Explaining it like this, it sounds... like a pathetic routine, but I am, contrary to current appearances, a respectable ph-phy-doctor.”

Jim grinned and thought that Leonard was totally hot and kind of adorable, stuttering through his inebriated confession.

“Spock and I, we’ve been friends since grad school.” Leonard licked his lips, their bow shaped plushness drawing Jim’s eyes. “Spock lets me stay, and besides MARTA’s closed. You wouldn’t throw me out in the cold, would you?”

“For one, it’s not that cold; for another, I don’t know you.”

“But Spock does... and-and...” Leonard lifted Linus and held him in front of his face, pretending to talk for the cat. “Please, Jim, let Doctor McCoy stay the night. He’ll be good. I can vouch for him.”

Jim laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a goof. Certifiable.” But he was smiling, and really, really turned on.

The instant Leonard released the cat, Linus raced away, leaving Leonard’s hands empty. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Jim, but I’ll be gone before you wake up and I promise you’ll never lay eyes on me again.”

“You convinced me.” Jim tugged Leonard up with him. Their eyes met, the moment stretching, and damn, was the guy even more gorgeous up close!

“Good thing,” Leonard said, softly, and Jim felt the warm puff of bourbon-laced breath on this cheek.

“Ummmm,” Jim murmured.

“I’ll just...” Leonard pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the spare bedroom.

“Yeah,” Jim agreed.

Neither man moved.

Linus raced through the room like the hounds of hell were on his tail. He knocked the tennis racket over, breaking the moment.

“Night, Jim,” Leonard said softly, then leaned forward and kissed him. It was a light press of their lips, but Jim felt it down to his toes.

He blinked, one finger tracing his lips as he stared at Leonard. “Wow. That was...”

“Ummmm, yeah.”

Before Leonard could apologize, Jim grinned. “Weird.”

“Weird?”

“Let me... maybe...” Jim leaned in, tugging Leonard to him and kissing him firmly, with intent, tongue and teeth joining the attempt.

Their second kiss left Jim feeling a bit dazed. Leonard must have felt something too because they both sat down, almost dropping, but neither moving away or closer. Jim’s lips tingled and Leonard’s eyes were a deep, verdant green, startling for their clarity and intensity.

“I’m... I don’t usually do this...” Jim faltered, suddenly acutely aware of how long it’d been since he’d felt the rush of instant attraction.

“What? Kiss men?” Leonard asked.

“No, kiss a perfect stranger.”

“I do it all the time,” Leonard said. He was so matter of fact about it, so _casual_ that Jim was at a loss, but that unsteadiness didn’t change the heated flare of lust washing through him.

“Huh. I think we should try that again, see if maybe it was a fluke.”

“Third time’s a charm,” Leonard grinned. He pulled Jim into his arms, but instead of leaping into the kiss, one hand cradled Jim’s chin then soft lips brushed Jim’s eyelids, first one then the other. Jim swallowed a moan as perfect, wonderful, tender kisses skimmed his face until their lips met. If their second kiss left Jim dazed, their third was nothing short of earth shattering. He never wanted it to end.

But it did.

As they parted, Jim struggled not to follow Leonard’s lips with his own, had to swallow to give his brain a chance to reboot. He wanted to shove Leonard down, strip him bare, and ride him like there was no tomorrow.

“Bedroom?” was all Jim could say, his voice a breathless whisper.

Leonard’s answering, “Fuck, yes!” was rough and low. He might do this a lot, but at least he seemed almost as affected as Jim.


	3. And to think it was just sitting right under their noses

Spock felt a smile spreading across his face. He had never been a terribly demonstrative person; his parents trained him to be judicious in his response to all situations, to be measured and restrained. It was simply the way of his family. He did, in fact, know what a joke was, especially after he got to know the person telling said joke, and how to smile and laugh. Despite what Leonard McCoy might say. 

“So, we all run out of the lab, the alarm is near deafening, and Chris here is running in the opposite direction, yelling, ‘It’s a false alarm! Everyone back to work!’” Phil said, snorting into his wine glass, while Chris rolled his eyes. “Funniest damn thing I’d ever seen. Problem was, it really _was_ an emergency.”

“Well, no one told me the virus lab had a total HVAC shut-down,” Chris said, pointing at Phil. “The emergency system didn’t have a back-up in those days. It sure as hell did after that.”

Spock was processing the details of the story that didn’t seem, on its surface, to be funny--a breach of protocol and a system failure weren’t funny in his opinion--but clearly the two men found it so. Phil was extremely animated, gesturing wildly with his arms and making vocal modulations, and Chris breaking in to add droll observations, so as to make the story appear humorous, thus causing Spock to smile. “So in hindsight, Chris’s reaction was indeed humorous?” he asked.

“Well, not the situation _per se_ , Spock, but rather Chris’s demeanor throughout the crisis,” Phil replied. “He’s usually much more dignified than he was that day.”

“Pardon me for losing my shit while the building was going to hell around us,” Chris said. “That is how the renovation and the separate viral containment lab came into being, Spock. But yeah, after a while, I could see the humor in the situation.”

“It is a wonder no one was injured,” Spock said.

“Oh, indeed. Still, the CDC even back then was miles ahead of the Russian labs,” Chris said.

“My God, that was one scary damn inspection,” Phil said, rubbing his forehead. “Soviet-era labs were chronically underfunded, understaffed, and housed in buildings I wouldn’t put a dog in.”

The candles on the two menorahs, one brass, one ceramic, were burning low. The dinner had been delicious, the company even more delightful than Spock could have ever imagined. They had pulled the dining table closer to the windows so that they could watch the final rays of the setting sun and the city lights winking on as the sky turned from dusky blue to deep purple then to black. Lighting the candles and saying the ceremonial words in Hebrew and Ladino had been inspiring, different stories and traditions for the same celebration. Chris made a small batch of latkes, while Spock, in a burst of inspiration, had found the correct ingredients in Jim’s sparse pantry to make his grandmother’s jam-filled fritters. He suspected breaking bread with these two intelligent men would no doubt be the highlight of his holiday.

Phil had just refilled their wine glasses when the doorbell rang throughout the loft. Spock rose from his chair. “Pardon me.”

Spock opened the door. “Hello,” the woman standing there said shyly. “You are Dr. Spock, I presume?” She held out her hand.

Spock’s mind juddered to a stop. The photos of Nyota Uhura on Jim’s wall did not adequately capture the breath-stealing beauty of the woman before him. She was older, of course; her hair was arranged differently, her eyes still almond-shaped.

“Are you not Dr. Spock?”

The musical lilt in her voice knocked him out of his thoughts. “Forgive me. Yes, I am Spock,” he replied. “Please come in, Miss Uhura.”

“Oh, you know me?” she asked, clearly surprised.

“Yes. Jim told me about you. That, and there are photographs of you. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.” 

“I see,” Nyota said. “Oh. Have I interrupted your dinner?”

Chris and Phil waved from the other end of the loft. “Hi, Nyota. Come join us,” Chris called out. 

Spock held out his hand in invitation. “We have completed our meal, and have been sharing stories.”

“Want a glass of wine?” Phil asked as he and Chris rose from their chairs. “It’s very nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” She shook each man’s hand. “A good Chanukkah to you.”

“Thank you,” Chris said. “Phil, grab that bottle of zin from the kitchen, would you?”

“You remembered I like zinfandel,” she said with a smile. 

“Ever since we ran into you at that wine tasting last year,” Chris said. “We saw it in Jim’s wine rack so we thought we’d help deplete his inventory.”

“Jim’s good to me,” Nyota said, taking a seat in the chair Spock brought from the corner of the dining area. “He can’t stand it, but he always has some for me.”

“Then you’re the one who’s taught him which brand to purchase,” Phil said, handing her a crystal goblet. “This is very good.”

“Cheers,” Chris said. “A Merry Christmas to you, Nyota.”

They touched glasses. “Thank you. Christmas is going to be hectic. My family is all gathered together for the big weekend. I love them all, but my apartment is a little cramped with the extra people. I had to get out of there for a moment,” she admitted. “Came over to get the laptop so I can do some legitimate work to stay out of the way of my nieces and nephew.”

As she continued to talk about her family and work in response to Chris’s questions, Spock sat transfixed by the lovely woman seated beside him. She was absolutely exquisite in carriage and demeanor; her conversation sparkling and literate. Leila was lovely in her own right, but was not especially engaging when carrying a conversation. That was not the _only_ criteria for the selection of a mate, Spock thought, but being with someone in an intimate relationship who could carry on an intelligent conversation was a definite. . .turn on.

“When we were at CDC in the 70s and 80s, it was a struggle to get funding, just like it is today,” Chris was saying as Spock tuned back in. “But when the AIDS crisis came along, and then developed into near-epidemic status, we had all kinds of money coming at us.”

“Flush days,” Phil said, nodding. “I was able to hire on more lab assistants than I’d ever had. Ph.D’s, young and old. Had one fantastic woman who had done significant work on small pox in the 50s and 60s and her command of trial protocol was outstanding. Taught me a thing or two about lab procedures.”

“Wait--you two were there during the start of the AIDS research?” Nyota’s entire being lit up.

“We were. Phil and I weren’t together during those days, but I knew he didn’t take a vacation day for five years,” Chris said, taking a sip of wine. “HR came down on him like a ton of bricks, but it didn’t do any good. I finally had to use my executive director’s position to force him to take some time off.” 

Phil snorted. “Fucking nosy idiots. I was in the zone. We were facing a public health crisis of biblical proportions and they were worried I wasn’t sunning myself enough on some goddamn beach. I had a duty to uphold, and a lab to run, and --”

Nyota leaned forward. “Why did I not know any of this? Guys, I’ve always wanted to do a documentary on those first years of research. I have an undergraduate degree in biology and sociology, and Jim and I have been looking around for a science-related topic for one of our next films. Would you mind if I picked your brains?” She sat up straight. “In fact, wait a minute. Let me get a recorder.”

She ran from the dining room and up the stairs to the editing loft. Spock felt a frisson of excitement run through him, as if he was channeling Nyota’s intellectual joy. This woman, not only was she gorgeous but she was curious about topics that he himself was interested in. As she settled into the chair with a laptop, microphone and notebook, Spock saw that she was trembling. Her hand flew across the notebook, the pen leaving lines of loopy words. Her questions--penetrating and insightful--led Chris and Phil into a deep discussion about the culture, politics, economics and science of discovery of the AIDS virus. She listened actively and with respect, clarifying and expanding ideas as they talked. Certainly there was more: they gave her names of scientists who did the first crucial studies, helped her craft an outline of what they thought were salient facts and events in the history of AIDS research. 

Spock shifted in his seat and realized that he was utterly and completely enthralled watching her. Her eyes sparkled in amusement as Phil talked; they narrowed, indicating careful thought and flashed when Phil told her about staff members scoffing at the extent of the crisis and the fact it was a ‘fag disease’, showing her anger at the bigotry and dismissal. Where Chris was measured in his assessment of the government’s response, Phil was passionate and fiery about fellow scientists’ reactions. 

“These were real people dying real deaths from this thing, and we didn’t have a goddamn clue how the virus insinuated itself,” Phil said pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “It was our duty to get a handle on it as quickly as possible before it could spread even further, possibly into the general population. We had absolutely no idea what was going on with it. But now, scientists like Spock here are on the verge of going to trial with some new treatment modalities.”

Nyota turned her attention to Spock, who crossed his legs quickly. “I read that,” she said. “How is it going?”

“We have seen promising results with therapies related to the CCR5 gene,” Spock said. “In lab experiments, we have seen that the CCR5-Delta32 gene makes cells highly resistant to HIV infection. Our work involves making this therapy useful in the field.” As he became attuned to describing his work, something he was much more comfortable discussing, he relaxed and found he really wanted to talk about it with this beautiful, intelligent woman. _Leonard would say always seize an opportunity to talk to and impress a woman. And don’t run her over with technical language, except Nyota Uhura was entirely comfortable with the technical._

Several hours later, Nyota rose and raised her arms over her head, doing a cat stretch. “I’m so sorry I interrupted your celebration,” she said in a way that did not convey too much regret. 

“I think as each of us talked, the other two cleared off the remains of dinner and cleaned the kitchen,” Spock said. He was surprised to see that it was true--amongst the three of them, they had done an excellent job of sprucing up the kitchen. A small pile of clean, dried pans and wares sat on the counter, along with bags of the items Phil and Chris brought.

“We’re going to head out,” Phil said. “Spock, thank you, and we’ll expect you Christmas morning for brunch.” Spock found himself pulled into a warm hug. “Fresh squeezed orange juice is my specialty.”

Chris finished hugging Nyota and then gave Spock a hug as well. “Call us if you need anything.”

The two men picked up canvas bags with clean dishes and pots and left. Spock felt a bit of life go of out the loft with them.

“Well, I really have to go. My family is going to think I totally abandoned them,” Nyota said. They reached the doorway, and Nyota put down the computer and notebook to retrieve her coat from the wall hook. Spock took it from her and opened it for her to slip her arms into it. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I was supposed to meet my boyfriend tonight, but he flew out to Santa Fe yesterday on a quick business trip and hasn’t returned yet.”

 _Ah. Boyfriend._ Spock felt his heart drop into his stomach. Of course she would have a boyfriend. A beautiful, talented, intelligent woman would make an attractive mate to any man with half a brain. _Would that he be worthy of her_ , he thought.

“It was lovely to meet you,” she said. “I’ll be back to film them, but I’d like to get your perspective as a current researcher at the CDC.”

“That would be. . . acceptable,” Spock replied, as he held the door open. “I can only discuss in detail my work, and only parts that are open for discussion. However, I can give you names of people you will want to include.”

She nodded. “Thank you, again, for allowing me to intrude on your celebration.”

“A very Merry Christmas to you, Nyota.”

She gave him a smile and stepped into the elevator.

~~*~~

Jim stretched out, luxuriating in the high thread-count sheets, his body lax and loose in a way that he’d nearly forgotten. What the hell had he been thinking? Work over sex? Idiot.

His arm flopped to the bed, reaching, but Leonard... Leonard? He couldn’t call a man he slept with _Leonard._ Len? Leo? Leo might do. He turned, but Leo was gone, his side of the bed already cold. And Jim was disappointed. He’d hoped for more of the ‘proper seeing to’ he’d gotten last night. He heard that phrase in Leo’s bourbon-soaked drawl and his morning wood hardened further as a smile spread across his features.

A whiff of heavenly brew reached him and he was immediately out of the bed, tossing on a robe as he followed the aroma.

Leo hadn’t left. Instead he was standing in the kitchen, hip propped against the counter, long-fingered hands wrapped around a large black mug from which steam was issuing as he blew across the top. He looked downright edible, tousled hair, unbuttoned shirt and... Jim did a double-take. Oh, shit! Was he in trouble. He had a weakness for guys in glasses, something about brainiacs and Leo’s only served to make him even more attractive, despite his slight pallor.

“Is that coffee?” Jim made grabby motions with his hands as he shuffled forward.

Leo moved his head in a barely perceptible nod. “Mug’s on the counter. I didn’t know how you take it or I would have brought you a cup.”

Jim fixed his coffee and they stood there in surprisingly comfortable silence as Jim tried to come up with some way of dragging Leo back to bed. “You look pretty damn good for as drunk as you were last night.”

He wanted to smack himself.

Leo’s eyes narrowed, then he chuckled. “I’ve been much, much worse, Jim.” It seemed like he wanted to say something else. Jim knew he wasn’t imagining the tension between them, hadn’t imagined the mind blowing sex last night, but he _was_ leaving. And they’d never see each other again...

“I should...” Leo started, then stopped.

“Oh, yeah,” Jim agreed. “You know where everything is, right?”

Leo nodded. “I even have some clean clothes over here. Spock’s... well, Spock’s a damned good friend.”

He started to walk out of the kitchen, then stopped and turned back to Jim. “Last night... it was--”

Jim didn’t want to hear the morning after brush off from Leo, so he interrupted. “Yeah, no worries. We both know what this was. It was great. Glad to meet you.”

Leo hesitated for a minute, indecision warring on his face. “It was good....” He faltered. “Things are complicated in my life right now. Thanks for last night and for understanding, Jim.”

Jim swallowed, eyes wide. What the hell was he doing? And why did those eyes of Leo’s root Jim to the spot, making him flush hot and cold? “Yeah? It was amazing, Len, uh, Leo,” he ended with a smirk.

The nickname made Leo blink, then a slow, lazy grin lit up his face. “My nana calls me Len, but I kind of like the sound of Leo in your accent.”

Jim’s eyes sparkled. “Accent? I don’t have an accent, _Leo_.”

“That right, darlin? Sure sounds like it to me.”

Jim nodded helplessly as heat colored his face. Leo’s voice and wry drawl did things to Jim, made him feel things he’d almost forgotten, stealing his breath.

Leo watched him, the silence growing heavy, then he lowered his eyes and Jim could breathe again. “If your flight’s cancelled or you decide to stay on, some of us are hitting ‘Sweet Georgia’s’ tonight for dinner. It’d be great if you could join us.”

Before Jim could answer, Leo was gone and Jim was staring after him, a goofy smile on his face.

Leo’s phone vibrated on the counter and Jim picked it up without thinking. _’Gaila’_ He put it down. Had to force himself to keep smiling. It didn’t matter. Ships that pass in the night and all that.

*~*

The rain had slowed to a traffic clogging drizzle and Jim barely made it to the airport in time for his flight. As the TSA searched his bags (every damn time!) he got cold feet. And couldn’t stop thinking about Leo’s shy smile when he invited Jim out for drinks -- with his friends. What the hell did that mean?

And why was Jim at the damned airport and not finding out for himself?

*~*

Jim was unsure about the place. It looked... not like a pub, but more like some franchise thing. Surely Leo wouldn’t be drinking in some hipster chain? But he double-checked the address and this was the place. Sweet Georgia’s Juke Joint, 200 Peachtree. He had no idea what to expect, wasn’t sure this was a great idea, but he had to admit that he was unable to get Leo out of his mind.

He steeled himself and stepped into the restaurant, looking around. He didn’t see Leo, but then he wouldn’t recognize anyone else, so they could be anywhere. Leaning against the stainless steel topped bar, he ordered a tumbler of bourbon, then met a familiar pair of hazel eyes in the large mirror behind the bartender.

The smile on Leo’s face made Jim’s stomach flutter like in those stupid romance novels Nyota claimed she didn’t read while they traveled. He cursed himself for being an idiot, but he grinned back and leaned into the warm hand on his back as Leo directed him to his circle of friends and co-workers. They were a surprising group, readily accepted him, instantly joking and giving him a hard time for their “meet cute”.

There was a band and the place was hopping, giving Jim an excuse to stay close to Leo, pressed thigh to hip. Jim wasn’t complaining about the cramped quarters and he sure wasn’t moving away from the arm across the back of his chair. They couldn’t kiss like Carolyn and Scotty, but Jim shivered every time Leo’s fingers brushed his neck or his hand. There was something about Leo and Jim was damned glad he had stayed.

*~*

Jim’s second morning in Spock’s condo was met with much swearing and staggering to the toilet as the sun shredded his eyeballs.

It took more fumbling and three separate stops to flop on the bed for him to actually make it out of the bedroom.

He was greeted by Leo’s sly smile and even if his body wanted some of that, his head... well, his head was pounding, his body was still not his own, and he couldn’t remember a damned thing after Sweet Georgia’s.

“I haven’t had that much to drink in...” He paused, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen for support. “What the hell am I saying? I’ve never had that much to drink.”

“I don’t believe anyone has,” Leo agreed, his voice soft.

Jim groaned pitifully. “I don’t remember anything after the restaurant. What did...” he stumbled over his words, but the sex with Leo had been fucking fantastic and it sucked that he didn’t remember their second hook up. “Did we?” He pointed between the two of them. “Ummm, last night...?” he asked, arching a brow even if the act made his aching head throb.

Leo pressed a warm mug into Jim’s hand. The coffee was sweeter than he liked, but Leo just pushed the mug back. “Drink it. You need the sugar. And fluids.”

Jim was trying to remember... why had he thought he could go toe to toe with Scotty?

Leo let him stew for awhile, then stepped close, so close that Jim could see the golden flecks in his eyes and still smell his aftershave even though there’s no way with that bedhead that Leo had showered.

“We didn’t, Jim. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t have sex with unconscious partners.” He paused for a beat. “No matter how hot.”

Jim winced. “Oh. Shit. I’m--”

Leo just chuckled, the sound lodging at the base of Jim’s spine. “Don’t worry about it, darlin’. I’ll take a rain check, though.”

 _’Fuck, yes!’_ Jim wanted to crow, but instead he ducked his head and gave Leo a shy smile from under lowered lashes. He wasn’t trying to play coy or hard to get, _that_ was out the window two minutes after they’d met. But there was still something about Leo that made Jim want to impress the guy.

“I’d like that. A lot,” he admitted. “Still can’t imagine why you bothered to stay.” He stared into his mug afraid to see revulsion in Leo’s eyes. There was no telling what he’d said or done before he’d passed out.

“Because you asked me to.”

Leo’s voice was soft and it made something warm curl in Jim’s gut, a feeling he could get used to. “Oh, god. I did, didn’t I?” Embarrassment made his legs weak and he dropped into one of the chairs, resting his head in his hands.

Leo nodded and Jim could swear there was fondness in his eyes, either that or he was silently laughing at Jim.

“Was there begging at one point? And singing?”

“And a striptease.” Leo bit his lip, but Jim saw the chuckle he couldn’t hold back.

“Oh, God. Kill me now,” Jim moaned. “I’m so sorry. I’m not normally like this. I’ve obviously gone off the deep end but I swear to you, I _am_ a serious, too serious... award-winning, even, documentary filmmaker.”

That made Leo chuckle outright and Jim couldn’t help but stare at his dimples.

“I have to say, from the minute I met you, it’s been an adventure.”

Jim wanted to ask if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but Leo’s phone went off and Jim automatically picked it up without thinking. “Joanna. Sorry,” he said as he sheepishly handed over the phone.

Leo took the phone and looked up at Jim apologetically. “I better take this,” he said as he walked out.

Jim really didn’t eavesdrop, but there had been something about Leo’s demeanor. So he stood and peeked out of the kitchen, watching as Leo paced and talked. He had the sweetest smile on his face and his voice was fond, affectionate... loving.

That made Jim’s heart clench. First, there was Gaila, now Joanna, and not to be forgotten... Jim. _’Busy guy.’_ But it wasn’t like Leo had denied he did this... whatever this was... a lot.

Leo turned and saw him, their eyes meeting for an instant before Jim fumbled away and sat down heavily in the chair. Well _that_ was awkward.

Leo strode into the kitchen and Jim stood, mug in hand to ward off disappointment.

“I think we should get out of here,” Leo stated, smile filled with hope.

“What?”

“I think you should get dressed and let me show you around Atlanta. We can have lunch at one of my favorite places and get to know each other.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m running out of reasons why we shouldn’t. Aren’t you?”

Jim’s heart gave a confusing little lurch, but he smiled and nodded. He couldn’t stop staring into Leo’s eyes.

~~*~~

“Ok, guys, this is just a conversation,” Nyota said as she adjusted the light shining on Phil and Chris. “This will be test footage that I’ll show to Jim, and then if he likes it, and he will, we can take it to our editorial committee and then they take it to granting corporations and foundations.”

Phil shifted in the chair, casually throwing his arm around Chris’s shoulders. “Sounds like this could take years.”

“Not really,” she replied as she returned to the camera and looked through the eye-piece. “Our major funding sources are in place. When we go to them, we always have our ducks in a row. Our research will be vetted and our preliminary outline will include footage such as this.” She stood up straight, smoothing the front of her blouse with her palms. “I have it on good authority that the Ford Foundation has been wanting to fund a health-oriented project for a while. And I happen to know that two of our competitors--oh, excuse me, our _contemporaries_ \--are developing environmental stories. I want this to happen, and I will make it happen.”

Spock sat in a chair nearby, his laptop perched on the coffee table, watching Nyota set up the filming space. She moved confidently, arranging the lights, the camera, Phil and Chris, with precision. Clearly, over the past several days she had done some reading. Made some phone calls. He admired her persistence, her passion, and her obvious intelligence. It made for an overwhelmingly attractive package. But only from afar. . . . 

When the filming began, Nyota led Chris through a series of well-crafted questions that showed she understood the intricacies of running a large research agency with multiple projects and the nuances of the politics that came with them. When it came to AIDS, though, Nyota proved she was well versed in the history of the fight for funding before Congress, before other humanitarian organizations and the continuing fight for a vaccine.

The taping took about two hours, Phil and Chris both relating their knowledge of the first days of identifying and isolating the virus to the initial funding for research and the politics it engendered. Chris became very passionate about it, so much so Phil had to stop the filming to encourage Chris to bring his ire down a notch or two.

“Sorry about that,” he had muttered.

“Are you kidding?” Nyota had replied, wide-eyed. “No one knows this stuff. I’ve done a lot of research, and I’ve never heard any of this.” She sifted through a stack of files on the table. “You’ve given me names, events, secret meetings---” She stopped and looked at them. “Are you prepared for--”

“We have spoken with our attorney, yes,” Phil said, still holding onto his partner’s wrist, monitoring his pulse. “We know there will be the inevitable fallout, and we’re prepared for it.”

Spock sat up straighter. “You are putting your reputations on the line?”

“No, we’re telling the truth, finally,” Chris said, his face set. “It’s time we spoke up.”

Phil nodded, a little reticent. “I think we’re done for today.” He clapped Chris on the shoulder. “I’d feel better if you ate something and then rested.”

“Aw, come on, I’m fine.”

As the two men continued to argue amiably, Spock moved to the table to help Nyota gather up her research files. Her notes were organized by year, by subject, by name; her handwriting precise. She put them into a canvas briefcase and zipped it up. “It is not my intention to get them, or you, or anyone, into trouble,” she said in a low voice.

“Perhaps they are ready to cause trouble,” Spock said with a straight face.

At that she laughed quietly. “Two retirees making a final stand?”

“That may be their intention, or perhaps they feel they have found the right person to tell their story, to tell it correctly and to bring it to the right audience.”

“Maybe so.” Nyota closed down her laptop. “Say, would you like to go get some ice cream?”

Spock checked his watch. “It is now four-oh-five. I would point out that ice cream at this time would ruin your dinner, but I think you are in need of a sugar boost.”

She smiled. “I am. When I work I use up a lot of energy, even though I’m not doing much. I feel like my brain has run a couple of marathons. But I don’t want to eat dinner just yet.” She ducked her head. “I really like chocolate.”

“Then we shall find chocolate for you,” Spock said, agreeably. “Do you have a place in mind?”

“Of course.”


	4. It’s Complicated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a woeful lack of anything Spock/Uhura related. We’re sorry. It’s just the way the scenes fell.

After his shower, Jim fretted with his clothes, changing back and forth from jeans to slacks and finally back to jeans. He wasn’t normally like this. He just wasn’t the kind of guy that worried about his clothes. But there was something about Leo... Jim left slacks and a button-down draped over a chair, giving his ass in the skinny gray jeans one last glance (pretty damn good!) before stepping into the living room.

Leo stared, then blurted out, “What the hell? You take longer than J-J... any woman!”

Jim protested, but he felt a sense of satisfaction when Leo’s eyes didn’t leave him.

“Where’s your coat?” Leo asked as he pulled on a huge North Face parka with fur-lined hood.

Jim looked at the beat up leather jacket he was slipping on, then down at himself, at the layered t-shirt and hoodie, then back up at Leo in confusion. “Umm, I’m wearing it?” Yeah, the jacket was old, but it was perfectly serviceable and had been his dad’s so Jim was rather fond of it and not about to wear anything else.

“It’s December, Jim. You’ll freeze down to your bones without a proper coat. Don’t come cryin’ to me when you’ve turned into an icicle and your dick’s froze off.”

Jim snagged a soft, black scarf from the hook beside the door as he nudged Leo out into the hallway, chuckling. “My bones, huh?” He couldn’t resist crowding Leo in the elevator. “I kinda like my dick, but this ain’t cold...” he hesitated and then gave Leo a wicked grin as an idea came to him. “Bones.”

“Wha’?”

“I was raised in Iowa, Bones. This is _not_ cold. Nowhere close to it.”

Leo blinked and Jim licked his lips. Leo couldn’t take his eyes off Jim’s lips and Jim wasn’t above encouraging the fascination. “But from your many layers, Bones, you’d think we were dogsledding across the Yukon.”

“Bones? What the hell are you calling me?”

Jim slowly lowered Leo’s zipper, then wrapped his arms around Leo’s waist, snuggling in close. “Bones... I’m _not_ calling you Len if your Nana does, Leo isn’t _quite_ right, and _Leonard_? Seriously? All I can think of is that nerd on the Big Bang Theory. You’re a surgeon, so... Sawbones, but--”

“Sawbones?” Leo looked horrified, his eyebrows zinging to his hairline.

“Didn’t fit, either. But Bones does. So Bones it is.”

Leo had wrapped his arms around Jim, pulling him in tight. Logically, Jim knew they were in a public elevator, but Leo didn’t seem to care and it felt good. So Jim didn’t pull away, not even when a smartly dressed couple joined them on the 15th floor. He just offered a smile and a wink and watched, pleased, as Leo didn’t even flinch.

The coupled exited the elevator without a backward glance, but Jim still sighed in relief. He hadn’t realized just how freaked out he’d been about being open about his sexuality in such a repressed climate. This was why he was never living anywhere else but San Francisco.

He followed Leo into the parking garage, hurrying to catch up as he realized he’d missed Leo’s words.

“What?”

“Let’s take Spock’s car,” Leo said as he stopped by a shiny, black Volvo S60. Figures Spock would drive a practical, but still striking, sedan.

Jim must have looked lost because Leo continued, “I have a good parking spot close by. If we take my car, I’ll lose it. And, besides, Spock’s car’s cleaner than mine.”

It was the apologetic shrug that convinced Jim. He wasn’t a neat freak, but he did like his things tidy, probably a leftover from his raising, and that... well that was a leftover from things he didn’t want to think about. Jim suspected that chaos surrounded Leo, wherever he was, so he agreed. “No problem, Bones, but you should drive.”

The drive was relaxed and surprisingly pleasant, even when Jim and Leo kept fighting over the heater. Jim just gave up and unwound the scarf from his neck and struggled out of both the leather jacket and hoodie.

Leo just stared at him, mouth agape.

“What?”

“You’re insane, Jim.”

A chuckle burbled up in Jim’s chest as he looked at Leo, still bundled up in his giant parka, eyebrows all wonky and eyes wary, as though Jim were turning into a yeti before his eyes.

“Bones, it’s getting hot in here, and don’t tell me you’re not getting overheated, too.” Jim leaned forward, let his finger brush away the tiny beads of sweat at Leo’s hairline. “Stubborn ass,” he said, fondly. “It’s okay, you know. I won’t make fun if you actually get too hot in your Arctic gear.”

Leo grumbled, but had Jim steer while he tugged and wrestled and twisted to get out of his coat. While he was busy, Jim lowered the temperature in the cabin and had to bite his lips to keep from laughing at Leo’s struggles.

When he was finally free of the large overcoat, his face was flushed and his hair was standing up in rebellious tufts. Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more adorable or sexy.

“What? Do I have fuzz on my face?” Leo groused while trying to look in the rearview mirror.

“Keep your eyes on the road!” Jim barked as the car swerved into the oncoming lane.

Leo confidently pulled the car back as though driving astride the white line was normal. Still freaked Jim the hell out.

Jim banged his head against the side window as his pulse slowed.

“What’s the matter, Jim? I know these roads like the back of my hand.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know the other idiots on it!”

Leo’s hand shot out and gave his thigh a reassuring squeeze. “I’m good at multi-tasking. I have to be. But I promise to be more careful.”

“Good. I want to get to this fabulous restaurant in one piece.” Jim wasn’t sure why he was being so petulant about Leo’s driving, but he didn’t like Leo being so cavalier on the highway, especially not once he’d learned that Leo drove this way each day, an hour to and from work.

The rest of the drive was calmer, with no more evidence that Jim was being driven by a madman. Jim was surprised how soon Atlanta and its suburbs disappeared behind them. They were quickly in the countryside and he felt himself relax further as the traffic thinned out and they were alone on the highway.

*~*

Jim was lost in his musings, the silence and easy smiles Bones tossed his way had him oddly content, spine loose in a way he couldn’t recall. Maybe he’d needed a vacation far more than he’d imagined.

He leaned his head against the side window, eyes at half mast as he gazed at the landscape and occasionally let his eyes linger on Bones’ profile. There was no doubt about it. Bones was hot, sexy in that completely unaware way, with those full, bow-shaped lips, changeable eyes, and amazing, expressive eye brows. Whoever heard of having whole conversations with someone’s eyebrows? But Bones totally could.

Jim chuckled and Bones cocked his head, to look at him, a confused smile on his face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just... this feels nice. Thanks.” 

Jim slid his hand to meet Bones’ on the gear shift, their fingers tangling. He gave a quick squeeze before drawing away.

“My pleasure, kid.”

“Kid? What the hell?”

Bones stammered, “Y-you l-look so-so young right now.” He finished with a petulant shrug, “It was a compliment.”

Jim didn’t know what to do with that, so he changed the subject. “So where the hell’s this place? We’ve been driving for fuckin’ _ever_. I’m starved, Bones.”

“Not much farther. Keep your shirt on.”

Jim’s stomach rumbled in answer, making them both laugh.

*~*

The restaurant was down an honest-to-god dirt road and Jim was wondering just what kind of place Bones was taking him to. He had momentary visions of “Deliverance” and the metallic echo of banjos in his head as they pulled up to a log cabin overlooking a ridge.

Despite his qualms, the food was good. The company was even better and Jim couldn’t keep his fingers from tapping nervously on the table, so he kept them wrapped around the bottle of beer or in his lap. He’d start talking and his arms would fly up, making Bones duck and Jim flush.

“Did you always want to be a doctor? I mean assistant director of the Medical Division at the CDC isn’t something that just any old Joe can achieve.”

“Yeah, I guess I did. My daddy was a doctor. It just seemed like the thing for me.”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“Johns Hopkins.”

Jim whistled. “Wow. You must have nailed the MCAT.”

Bones shrugged. “Didn’t do too bad on it, I suppose.”

Jim just shook his head. “So, explain what you do. I know a bit about infectious diseases and transmission and shit like that, but most of that’s Ny’s area.”

“Ny?”

“Oh, right. Sorry. My partner. Nyota Uhura. She’s a genius. Gets all the science-y details.”

Bones’ eyebrow lifted. “Science-y?”

“What?” Jim asked. “It’s totally a word.”

And Bones’ smile told him that he’d let Jim get away with that. “Whatever, _kid._ ”

“Hey!”

“If you’re going to talk like my d-d... director’s daughter, then expect to get treated like her, too.”

“Whatever.” Jim tossed a chunk of cornbread at Bones, who blocked it neatly onto the table, giving Jim an “I told you so” look.

“If your partner does the hard science, what do you bring to the table?”

“Besides my good looks, fabulous speaking voice, and winning ways?” Jim paused, enjoying the amusement on Bones’ face.

“Yeah, besides all that?”

“I’m the crusader. I get the interviews, conduct most of them. As beautiful as Ny is, she’s not so fond of being in front of the camera. It’s stupid. I mean, in all honesty, she should be the one reading our words, not me. Who wouldn’t fall over themselves to listen to her?” He shrugged, then kept going, not even realizing how his eyes lit up, and he’d lost the self-consciousness about his hands, which punctuated every sentence. “I’m proud of what we’ve done. And I don’t mean the awards. Those... well, those are nice, but what matters is that we make a difference by calling attention to the plight of the disadvantaged, and that’s all I could ever ask for or want.”

Jim sat back, a bit breathless, hastily reaching for his water. He was doing it again, going off about his work. His passion. And completely ignoring the man across the table from him. A man that, if he was honest with himself, was doing great work, too. All while being sexy as hell.

“Enough about me. I want to know Leonard McCoy, the man behind the MD slash PhD.”

Bones almost choked and had to take a minute to recover. He shook his head. “Nothing to know really. I work a lot, always have. I’m bi-sexual. Single. Actually, I’m pretty damn uninteresting.” He leaned forward, fingers reaching for Jim’s. “I’d much rather talk about you. I’ve never met a filmmaker before. Wouldn’t even know the first thing about what you do. Tell me more?”

And Jim did. He was helpless when Bones looked at him like that.

“So why film? And why documentaries? I mean, that’s pretty far from a traditional career... you know: doctor, policeman, firefighter, movie star...”

Jim took a deep breath and nodded. “My dad. It’s because of my dad.”

Bones just looked at him with soft eyes that were completely focused on Jim. Jim ducked his head and spilled his guts.

“He was a test pilot. Found out there was a major flaw in the design of the Avenger and set out to get production stopped. They wouldn’t listen. Didn’t care. But he couldn’t let our boys fly it. So he showed them. Was killed when the wing sheared off. It sent the plane into a spin... straight into the ground.”

Jim swallowed and looked up, finally meeting Bones’ eyes. “I was three. It about destroyed my mom, but she didn’t let his death be in vain. She pursued it doggedly until the Air Force pulled the contract, canceled the whole thing, and General Dynamics settled out of court.” He clenched his jaw at the thought. “Basically paid hush money to my mom... but one day... one day I’m gong to film the whole story, Bones. My dad was a hero. There was no pilot error. And I’ll make damn sure the world knows it.”

Bones nodded, squeezing Jim’s hand, which Jim just noticed that Bones was holding. “You can’t do that yet, can you?”

Jim shook his head, still angry at the non-disclosure agreement his mother had signed. It had been for a lot of money and that money had done a lot of good - there’d be no Enterprise Films without it - but it still grated. His voice was thick when he said, “As long as mom’s alive, they get their free pass.” Jim’s mouth thinned and he felt the old anger rising. “But they don’t get a minute longer. They were willing to let pilots die! All for a buck. It’s shit like that that made me go into documentaries.”

Jim stopped, swallowed the last of his beer, grateful that Bones was still holding his hand. Ny knew George Kirk’s story, but Gary hadn’t. And here Jim was telling someone he’d just met. He had no idea why, but it was so easy to open up to Bones.

Before he could say anything, the waitress dropped off their desserts: peach for Bones and blackberry for Jim. Bones was tucking into his cobbler like a starving man, despite all the food he’d already eaten. “I know they’re not fresh, but even with frozen peaches, Mamie’s cobbler is the best in these parts. Don’t tell my nana I said that.” He had a smear of ice cream on his upper lip and Jim longed to lick it off. Glancing around the nearly empty restaurant, he settled for swiping it with his index finger. Bones’ tongue followed the trail of Jim’s finger and heat pooled in Jim’s groin.

Instead of throwing Bones to the vinyl booth and having his way with him, Jim tucked into the amazing blackberry cobbler. Dead of winter and it still tasted of summer sunshine and reminded him of the crumbles his grandmother would make back home.

Bones was making obscene noises over his bowl and Jim had to try it. He struck when Bones was distracted, snagging a peach slice, some crust, and a large dollop of ice cream. Even if the cobbler hadn’t been fantastic (it was heavenly), the expression on Bones’ face would have made the ‘theft’ worth the impromptu ‘sword’ fight across the table. Jim hadn’t laughed so much in ages.

He was still flushed and full when they left, a large bag with more food swinging from his fingers as Bones tugged him out. They dropped the food off and went walking along the ridge line. The sky had cleared and a wide creek sparkled in the sun as it wound its way through the trees. They stopped and stared at the vista, Jim sneaking glances at the man next to him.

Jim liked looking at Bones, at the man’s expressive eyebrows, his mutable face, and those plush, kissable lips.

Bones’ eyes flicked to Jim and he blushed, turning away. “Wanna walk off lunch?” Bones asked, a smile lighting his voice.

Jim turned back and took the offered hand. “Yeah, that’d be a good idea. I keep eating and drinking like this and I’ll need a new wardrobe.”

The forest canopy closed over them, dappled sunlight lighting their path. The conversation was free and easy with the silences as relaxed as the talking. But of course, Jim couldn’t leave it at a simple walk. After the next bend, Jim saw an old mill in the distance. He shot Bones a side-glance then shouted, “Race ya’ to the mill!” and shot off, calling out, “Winner gets a blow job!”

He didn’t dare look back to see if Bones was following, but he heard a sharp outcry and swearing, so figured that Bones had taken up the gauntlet.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jim darted across the old trestle bridge, feet pounding as the wood creaked and groaned underneath him. He didn’t consider that the bridge might be unsafe, was just concentrating on winning. Damn, did he want that blow job!

He took a hard right into the overgrown yard, but lost his footing on the wet leaves covering the ground and began sliding down the embankment toward the creek, his momentum pushing him forward. He slipped, legs flying out from under him, dropping him onto his ass. _”Dammit! These are my favorite jeans!’_ he thought, not considering the ice cold stream he was careening toward.

A pair of legs, a strong arm, and a boatload of cursing made Jim crane his head. His hand shot out to grasp Bones’, stopping his forward momentum, but he pulled too hard and Bones over balanced, landing them both in a tumble of limbs and mushy, wet leaves.

Jim was flat on his back, Bones splayed across him and he couldn’t help laughing, especially when Bones lifted to his elbows, his eyebrows dancing, and his lips making that frowny, gruff pout. He had leaves and twigs in his hair, a smudge on his face and Jim couldn’t resist. He lifted up (thank god for crunches!) and kissed Bones, stopping the tirade that was about to start. It only took a second before Bones was kissing him back, forcing his tongue down Jim’s throat, making Jim whimper and hold on for the ride. They lay like that, necking like horny teens in the back of dad’s car, until the cold and damp seeping into Jim’s ass was uncomfortable enough to sink in.

“Idiot! What the hell--”

Bones started the minute they parted, so Jim kissed him again.

After the third time, Bones got the hint and stayed quiet when they separated. Jim smirked and took the hand he was offered. He still couldn’t help the chuckle burbling up and gave Bones a sheepish shrug. “I slipped.”

“I’m not blowing you here,” Bones finally got out, though his eyes had that look in them that made Jim’s pulse speed up. He was _this_ close to offering to start when Bones tugged him back up the rise.

“No, Jim. I’m a lot of things, but I’m _not_ an exhibitionist.”

Jim let it drop, decided that he didn’t want to provoke Bones any more than he already had. Still, his palm lingered as he brushed leaves and dirt from Bones’ jeans. Then Jim gave him a sweet, chaste kiss that made his heart tumble and flip like a gymnast. “Not an exhibitionist, got it. But you _are_ my hero. Saved me from a wicked cold dunking. Thanks, Bones.”

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones tried to protest, but Jim couldn’t miss the flush creeping up his neck or the way his eyes crinkled.

They walked back to the car hand in hand and even Bones was laughing when they were on the road and warm once again.

*~*

The drive home was companionable and easy. Jim spent it gazing out the window while trying not to think about how much he’d enjoyed the day. His eyes kept flickering to Bones, his strong profile and those luscious lips and he’d have to cut his eyes back to the highway to turn his thoughts from just how much he wanted to spend more time with Bones, which was ridiculous. He’d only just met the man, was coming off a bad break-up and, besides all that, he lived across the country. Jim couldn’t pull off a long-term relationship when he lived with the guy.

Bones pulled Spock’s Volvo into its spot and handed Jim the keys, an air of expectation growing in the car.

“It was fun, Bones. I had a great time.”

“Me, too, Jim,” Bones replied. He tilted his head and gazed back at Jim, the dim lights of the parking garage and the harsh interior lighting created shadows that made him hard to read as he undid his seat belt. His elbow was on the armrest, tilting toward Jim who had to push against the car door to keep himself from leaning in. Bones was altogether too tempting. Jim opened the door and hopped out, probably too quickly but he had to do something to stop the itch in his fingers or he was likely to push that lock of hair off Bones’ forehead and kiss the man senseless.

They walked toward the elevator, shoulders bumping. Jim had to nip this in the bud. He was falling too hard, too fast, and that was so unlike him. He grabbed Bones’ wrist, stopping him from pressing the call button. “It’s okay, Bones. You don’t have to walk me up.”

“If you don’t want me to come up, just say so, Jim.”

“You’ve got a long drive home and I-I’m tired. Think I need some rest.”

“Okay,” Bones sighed, “I’ll tell myself that’s the truth.”

“Bones,” Jim wanted to protest, to reassure, most of all he wanted to kiss away that little furrow between Bones’ brows. “I leave here in nine days and that makes this complicated. I’m not sure I can handle complicated right now.”

“Okay,” Bones replied again, his voice soft with a hint of roughness.

Jim couldn’t resist and leaned closer. Their lips pressed together and Jim could feel Bones’ smile against his lips. That almost made him re-think this. He was _so close_ to giving in.

“And this isn’t complicated?” Bones asked when they parted.

Jim swallowed, but gave Bones a cocky grin. “Nah, not at all.”

Bones just stared at him for a long, silent minute, then nodded, a small, sad smile curving his lips. And if Jim didn’t walk away now, he wasn’t going to be able to.

“We’ll see each other...”

“Sure,” Bones agreed, though it was obvious he didn’t believe Jim. “And I can promise no middle of the night visits... I have to work tomorrow.”

“Right,” Jim nodded, stepping back, hands groping behind him until his finger pressed the call button, and dammit the elevator was right there! “See ya’ around, Bones.”

“Bye, Jim.”

Bones was still standing there with that wistful expression on his face as the elevator doors slid shut. Jim flopped against the far wall, head hitting a framed notice as his limbs went boneless. What the fuck was he doing?

*~*

Jim peeled off his by now stiff jeans, dropping them and the rest of his clothes in a pile in the bathroom as the tub filled. He flitted around the condo in the altogether; checked his e-mail, his phone, flipped on some music, and very purposefully tried not to dwell on the image of Bones’ face as the elevator whisked Jim away.

Sinking into the giant tub, he sighed softly and let the wet heat and aromatic bath oils (Spock had some hidden depth to his personality) soothe away the stiffness. It did nothing for the running commentary in his head. He even cringed aloud when he thought about what he’d said. _’not sure I can do complicated right now’_ Really? That was the best brush-off he could come up with?

All of Gary’s words and recriminations swarmed in Jim’s mind. Was Gary right? Could no one compete with Jim’s work? If that was so, then why was Jim’s work so easily forgotten when he was with Bones? And what the hell did it mean that he already knew Bones’ touch better than Gary’s and found himself craving it?

By the time the water cooled, Jim had decided that he needed to see Bones again. One more time to see if this riot of emotion was an echo of Gary or if there was something new and unfamiliar blooming in his heart.


	5. Heart break all around

“So what were you doing while I was filming?” Nyota asked as she put the spoon back into her chocolate fudge sundae. “I know you were listening, but were you writing?”

“Editing.” Spock finished off the last of his pineapple sorbet. “My. . .ex sent me new pages of her in-progress novel.”

“Your ex?”

“She was. . .is. . .was the love of my life. I have been with her since she started her novel. It is quite good.”

“There’s a story there.” Nyota gave him a compassionate smile.

Spock took a deep breath. “We had been seeing each other for about three years. At first our personality differences were refreshing and led to rather--” He stopped, struggling to find the right words about how to describe his relationship with Leila. 

Nyota put her hand on his forearm. “I get the picture.”

“Yes, well, I was very much in love with her. Then, I found out before I came here that she had been seeing another man, a man I believed to be just a friend to her. I was. . . undone by their duplicity. They left to start a life together.”

Nyota squeezed his arm in compassion. “And yet, here you are, still being supportive and helpful to her.”

“I cannot be adversarial or mean to her. It is not in my nature. If she continues to desire my help, then I must give it to honor our time together.”

Nyota leaned back in her chair, pulling her hand away from his arm as she did; Spock instantly missed its warmth. “That is such. . .Spock! This woman lied to you. She betrayed your _trust_ and your love, and everything of value in a relationship. She doesn’t deserve anything anymore, except maybe a slap across the face!”

Spock looked at her in horror. “I could never hit Leila. Not ever.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Nyota did indeed look contrite for her comment, but only for a moment. “However, I’ll bet you’d consider punching out the guy.”

Spock knew from the mischievous sparkle in her warm dark brown eyes that Nyota was teasing him. He thought for a few seconds, then replied, “Yes, to him I would gladly administer a knuckle sandwich.”

Nyota’s laughter was thrilling. “And you’d be good at it, too.” She finished off her sundae, then stood. “I’ve got an idea, something that always makes me feel better.” She looked around, and finding a trash can, tossed her empty cup into it. “Do you trust me?”

Spock followed suit with his cup and spoon. “Yes, I do.”

They exited the ice cream shop and walked a short distance to a video store. “This is one of the best movie rental places in the world. They carry films you can’t find on Netflix or anywhere else,” she said as they entered.

He followed her around the store as she picked up one DVD or video cassette after another, offering her opinion on the subject, the director, the weakness of the research (a particular sticking point with her), the cinematography, the strength of the writing, the overall composition of the film. Her knowledge of the technical aspects of film was breathtaking while her commentary was revealing and quite entertaining. Spock found himself laughing gently at her wit and humor.

“But this one,” she said, holding up a box with a bird on it, “this is exquisite. There’s not a damn thing wrong with it and that makes me mad because one, we didn’t make it and two, I can’t snark about it. I think you would enjoy watching this as much as I did.”

He read the title and small print under it. “Yes, I believe I would.”

As they wandered about the store, Nyota suddenly stopped, her eyes growing wide. “Son of a--”

“Nyota? Are you all right?” he asked.

He looked in the direction she was and saw a tall, handsome man outside, hugging a young woman who was wearing a short dress and boots. They looked like they were enjoying each other’s company very much.

“Excuse me.” Nyota handed him the DVD and rushed out the door.

Spock observed her confronting the man. The man’s face fell, but did not become angry, even though Nyota clearly was. She pointed her finger at him, then gestured. He hung his head at her words, then Nyota crossed her arms in front of her. Her face grew more distressed. The young woman backed away. It was then Nyota addressed her, calmly, Spock deduced from her body language and entreating, hands open. But the man was once again the recipient of her ire. She pulled back her hand, as if she were making to strike the man, but then all of a sudden she dropped it, turned and fled.

Spock put the DVD on the counter and bolted out of the door after her. She wasn’t running very fast, so he easily caught up with her. When he did, he pulled her into his arms, and said, “Let us go.” He wrapped a protective arm about her and directed her across the street. She fit easily under his arm, especially since she wrapped one of hers around his waist.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe it.”

Spock quickly led them back to Jim’s loft. Nyota had ceased her whispering and clung to his body. Even in the elevator where they were out of the cold, humid air of late afternoon, she would not release him. 

“Sit.”

Spock sat Nyota on the sofa in Jim’s apartment. He adjusted the thermostat to warm the space and dropped the soft blanket Jim had folded along the back of the couch around her shoulders; he then went to make tea in the kitchen. After several minutes she walked the length of the loft to join him, pulling herself up into one of the high chairs at the counter, and slumped over, her face in her hands. They remained silent, Spock giving her time to organize her thoughts and emotions, emotions that were playing out so clearly on her lovely features. Finally, the water boiled and he made fragrant tea for them.

“I am sorry, Nyota, that you had to find out that way,” he said gently. “To discover one’s beloved is cheating on them in such a public manner and without preparation is--”

He quieted. “It sucks,” she said succinctly. “And you know it does.” He nodded. Of course he did. “I mean, I know we weren’t the ‘one’ for each other, but we had a good thing going. I _thought_ we had a good thing. Obviously not.”

She looked miserably into the cup of tea before her. “I think I need something stronger.” Spock silently rose and opened the cabinet behind him. “The brandy,” she said. 

Spock handed her the bottle; she poured a generous dollop into her tea and then inhaled, smiling as she did. “So what are you going to do about your ex?”

Spock, momentarily stumped by the question, shook his head. “I loved her for over three years. It is hard to simply forget the emotion overnight. But I can give her up, allow her to find someone better, or more suitable, to love her. If that is who he is to her, then I will gladly do so.”

“That’s just so--doesn’t it make you mad?” she asked, straightening. “I mean, we both got played! We gave our hearts to people who threw them back in our faces. You’re acting like this isn’t a big deal, when it should be. You deserve better. We both do.”

Spock appreciated the fire in her voice. Perhaps he should be angry--well, _more_ angry than he was. True, he had more time to process his emotions; Nyota was angry, hurt. In shock. But she was right....

“We do deserve better,” he said softly.

“Damn right we do,” Nyota said. “But it still hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

He came around the counter and enfolded her in his arms, just as she crumpled into tears.

~~*~~

Jim warred with himself during the entire drive, was still arguing internally as he double-checked the GPS (thank God Spock still used an old fashioned rolodex!) and parked before walking up to Bones’ house. There were lights blazing from almost every window in the large Victorian. The eaves and railings were a riot of Christmas lights, not a straight line to be seen, but the chaos was more pleasing, homey, than geometric perfection ever could be.

The wide, wooden porch steps creaked when Jim set foot upon them. He winced, but continued on, gaining courage from the lighted Santa waving at him in sync with its eight-bit carols. The drapes in the large bay window were open to reveal a huge, old fashioned Christmas tree. The ornaments were heavily concentrated on the bottom half of the tree and the top was dripping with clumps of silver and gold tinsel, a crooked, hand made star completing the picture. It looked remarkably like the tree from Jim’s earliest memories.

And that settled it.

Life was too short, so whatever this was, Jim wasn’t going to deny that he couldn’t get Doctor Leonard McCoy out of his head.

Straightening, he lifted the old-style brass ring and knocked firmly. No backing out now.

Bones opened the door partway, growling, “Who the--” before stopping in mid-rant, his surprise parting those perfect, plush lips, eyebrows shooting upward.

Jim forgot himself, words tangling in his throat. He’d known the guy was gorgeous, couldn’t help but find him attractive, but the man standing in the doorway literally took Jim’s breath away. Not only was he wearing his glasses, his blue chambray button down was only held together by two straining buttons, tight faded jeans that hugged his thighs, and he was barefoot. Too much skin and a visible trail from navel to the waistband of his pants. Sex on two legs and Bones had no idea.

“Um, hi?” Jim managed to squeak.

Bones blinked and took a breath, swallowing before he answered. “Hey! You… I didn’t—”

The door was still barely open and Jim more clearly heard jazzy carols and voices? “Oh. Shit! You’re… you’re not alone, are you?”

Bones glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “No, not really.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry. I-I… don’t worry about it. I should’ve called… I’ll just—”

The door opened wider. “Who is it, Daddy?”

And Jim was confronted with a mini-Bones. She had his eyes, the same heart-shaped face, and his softly accented vowels, which were even more adorable in a little girl’s high-pitched voice. The only difference was that her hair fell in downy blonde waves and she didn’t frown at Jim, just offered him a shy smile.

“You’re _‘Daddy’_?” Jim gasped out.

Bones blinked at him and straightened uncomfortably before nodding. “Yeah.”

The little girl nudged Bones again. “Daaaa-ddyyy,” dragging out both syllables.

“Oh, right. Sorry, sweet pea. This is Jim Kirk, a-a friend.”

“Hi! I’m Joanna,” she greeted before turning and looking up at Bones. “Invite your friend in, Daddy.”

Bones stammered and flushed adorably, making Jim’s heart lurch. “Sorry. C’mon in, Jim,” he answered Joanna before lifting his face and opening the door wide.

Jim followed the pair in and gave a quick look around the house trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Before Jim could say anything, Joanna held out her hand and Jim shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim leaned down to meet Joanna’s eyes. He was trying to stay cool as his mind put two and two together and got a very unpleasant answer. “Just call me Jim. I’m not old enough to be _Mister Kirk._ ”

Joanna giggled and nodded, noticing the bag in Jim’s hand. “Is that for us?”

Nodding helplessly, he released the gift bag, staring as Joanna set the bag in front of the Christmas tree and immediately began digging through its contents. “Except for the bourbon…”

He rounded on Bones and hissed, “You’re married?”

Bones shook his head.

“Finger paints!” Joanna squealed, interrupting Bones’ answer. Jim flushed as she waved around the fruit-flavored body paints Jim had bought on a whim.

Bones’ eyes went wide.

And to add to the chaos and Jim’s utter humiliation, a young, hot redhead rounded the corner.

“Joanna! There you are! I’ve got to get going and you aren’t ready for bed yet!”

“But—”

“No buts, missy.” The redhead stood over Joanna, hands on her hips, a frown creasing her face. 

Jim was frozen in place, completely at a loss. But Bones had denied being married. “What the hell?” he mouthed to Bones whose expression was a mix of stunned surprise and complete horror.

Joanna stood up reluctantly, her pout making Jim weak. But the redhead seemed to be immune. She held out her hand for the paints and pointed up the stairs. Joanna went with slow, trudging steps.

It was then that the redhead looked up and Jim’s knees went wobbly for a completely different reason. She was stunning; clear green eyes, long, shapely bare legs in strappy high heels, and a figure hugging tight, tight mini-skirt. As if she needed any help highlighting those killer curves.

“Hi! I’m Gaila!” She handed Jim the body paints. “These must be yours?” Her smile was mischievous and she bit her lip as though trying to contain laughter.

Jim stammered out something, mumbling his name with face reddening chagrin.

“Don’t you need to get going?” Bones jumped in, his palm splaying on the woman’s – Gaila’s – back as he urged her toward the door.

“You sure?” she asked. Her eyes were still sparkling and Jim could tell she was barely holding back laughter as she wound a scarf around her neck and shrugged on a trench coat. 

“I got it. Go on, now. Git.”

Gaila grinned, said something softly to Bones, then waved goodbye.

For the longest time, Jim just stared after her. “You’re divorced?” he whispered. “Then who--?” he couldn’t finish that thought, just waved toward the door.

Bones let out a soft breath and shook his head. “I’m a widower, Jim. Two years now. Gaila is Jo’s nanny and my lifesaver.”

“Oh.”

That was good news, wasn’t it? But _shit!_ What kind of thought was that... just what kind of guy was he? It had to suck, and just what the hell was Jim doing here?

He began to back away toward the door. “I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come--”

Joanna interrupted by barreling down the stairs, her footie pajamas making an impossible racket on the wooden treads. “I’ve got my jammies on!” she announced to the world, skidding to a stop before Bones.

Bones lifted her up with an easy sweep of his arms. “Do you like hot chocolate, Jim?”

“Yeah, but I should probably…”

“Please stay, Mister Jim! Daddy’s hot chocolate is the best!” She looked at Jim with those wide hazel-green eyes, and he would already do anything she asked, but his eyes darted to Bones’. “We have those mini-marshmallows!” she added.

Bones shifted Joanna higher on his hip. “Settle down, Jo.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Please say you will?” she pleaded to Jim.

“I know what you’re doing, young lady, and bedtime is still eight-thirty,” Bones shut her down, but his voice was gentle.

Jim was wavering, unsure if Bones actually wanted him here or was just being polite.

“I do make the best hot chocolate… from scratch, Jim. You’re welcome to stay.”

As if Jim could resist two pairs of those eyes looking at him all puppy dog like? “I’d love to,” he agreed.

“Yay!” Joanna clapped and Jim trailed after them.

If Jim was captivated by the father-daughter duo individually, then sitting in their farmhouse style kitchen at the old, rough-hewn table sipping hot chocolate with marshmallows in it sealed the deal. He was a goner, especially when both McCoys laughed at Jim’s chocolate moustache. The free, happy sound made Jim stop and stare, his heart dropping through the floor.

To make it all the more confusing, Bones was this complete other person, tender and gentle. It made Jim ache for something that he absolutely refused to think about.

Joanna took a tiny sip of her cocoa, then gave Jim a sleepy, contemplative look. He straightened, suspecting that she was up to something. Instead she climbed into Bones’ lap, snuggling against his broad chest. She jostled his arm and hot chocolate sloshed onto Bones’ jeans. He didn’t swear, just calmly blotted it, careful with his next sip.

“Daddy?” Jo asked, tilting her face up at Bones.

“Yeah, sweet pea?”

“Sing to me? Pretty please?”

“Jo,” Bones tried to resist, his eyes darting frantically to Jim’s and was that a flush creeping up his neck? “I’m sure Jim doesn’t want—”

“Go ahead, Bones. I promise not to laugh.” Jim gave Bones a cocky smile and waved his hand to urge him to go ahead.

Bones’ eyes narrowed and Jim could see the effort it took for him to bite back just what he wanted to say. But he looked down at Joanna in his lap and melted.

“What song then?”

“ _Rainbow Connection_.”

Jo leaned back against Bones’ chest, her eyes at half-mast and her smile smug. This was a child who knew just how to get what she wanted.

“She’s seen the _Muppet Movie_ on DVD about forty times now,” Bones explained. “And she’s seen the latest one at least three times already.”

“Great movie,” Jim nodded. “Miss Piggy’s a personal favorite of mine, even though I always felt like Fozzy Bear, never could get a punch line right.”

Then Bones began to sing and Jim forgot to breathe.

_Why are there so many songs about rainbows  
And what's on the other side?  
Rainbows are visions, but only illusions,  
And rainbows have nothing to hide._

_So we've been told and some choose to believe it  
I know they're wrong, wait and see.  
Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection,  
The lovers, the dreamers and me._

When Joanna joined in, Jim gave up all pretense of being unaffected. He rested his chin on his hands and stared, too captivated to hide it. When they finished, his applause was genuine. Joanna scooted off Bones’ lap to give Jim a tight hug. He stood and swept her up into his arms, her happy laughter sent warmth rushing through him.

“All right, Jo. It’s bedtime. Go on and brush your teeth,” Bones reminded.

“But--”

“Little girls that don’t brush their teeth not only get cavities, but they also end up on Santa’s naughty list,” he cautioned.

Jo gave Jim another quick squeeze and hopped down. “Okay, Daddy, but after can I show Mister Jim my tent?”

Bones looked at Jim, one eyebrow arched in inquiry.

“I’d love to see it, Jo-bear,” Jim offered. Only after the words were out did he realize that he’d already given Bones’ daughter a nickname. He was so smitten.

“I’ll hurry!” she promised, racing off.

“Brush for two whole minutes, Jo!” Bones called after her.

“Jim--”

“Bones--”

They both laughed and Jim ducked his head. This was all more awkward and yet more comfortable than he’d felt in a long, long time and it was messing with his head. Biting his lip, he nodded at Bones, who had to go and get all serious on him, looking at him with such focus Jim swore his head was going to burst into flames or maybe Bones had gleaned all his deepest, darkest secrets. And that was far more terrifying than turning into ‘Ghost Rider’.

“Thanks for showin’ up,” Bones offered, his tone genuine.

“Hey, you never know when you’ll get a visit from Jim Kirk, ninja guest.”

“Daddy!” Joanna’s voice rang out.

“Better come on. Jo’s not long on patience.”

“She’s not long on being denied, either, is she?” Jim asked.

Bones shrugged as they ascended the stairs. “Hard not to spoil her... She lost her mom at four...”

Jim cringed. He really should learn to keep his mouth shut. “I didn’t mean it like that, Bones. She’s hard to resist... like her dad,” he offered, their shoulders bumping as they reached the landing.

Bones turned and gave Jim a self-conscious smile.

They walked to Joanna’s room, her name painted in glitter pink paint along a rainbow coming from fluffy, white clouds. Jim grinned. This was a far cry from the stickers that had adorned _his_ door.

Joanna darted in front of them, pushing the door open to reveal a large, airy room dominated in the center by a caravan-inspired tent hung from the ceiling. The pastel pink cloth walls hid a cozy area strewn with pillows. “C’mon in, Mister Jim!”

He dropped to his knees and followed Joanna into the nest of pillows, sprawling beside her, Bones’ broad shoulders brushing Jim’s as they settled in.

“Wow! This is amazing! Way better than the blanket forts Sam and I made back home in Iowa.”

Joanna lifted to her elbow and gave Jim a look that was light years beyond her six years. “Daddy made it.” Then she sniffed, “This isn’t a _fort._ It’s magic. It can be anything.”

Jim had to smile at Joanna. He wished he’d had something like this all those years ago when the storms came barreling across the plains, sweeping through the fields, threatening to tear their old farmhouse apart. Instead he’d hidden under an old woolen blanket held up by clothes pins in the cellar, Sam telling the most outrageous stories to keep Jim’s mind off the storms.

He shifted to his side, meeting Joanna’s serious expression. “Tell me your favorite adventure,” he asked. “Please?”

He glanced over at Bones and was rewarded with a completely unguarded smile, their fingers brushing as Jim settled on his back to be regaled by Joanna’s tale of a scrappy, brave princess that saved a flying dragon and, together, they flew through the stars saving other princesses, and even a prince named Jim. As she spoke, she acted out the story with Horace, the iridescent winged dragon, who sailed through the glitter encrusted star field dangling from the center of the tent.

Jim was thoroughly enchanted.

*~*

The happy chatter and giggles from Joanna’s room finally quieted with a soft, deep rumbling that Jim recognized as Bones’ “daddy” voice. He stood awkwardly at the bottom of the steps fumbling for words to explain all the feelings twisting him up inside. He felt oddly betrayed, but really he had no right to feel anything except gratitude. Bones didn’t have to welcome Jim into his home, no matter what Joanna had said. Who was Jim anyway?

A guy that had already made it clear that this was just a casual, sex-only fling. A guy that couldn't handle _complicated._

So why did that make Jim so damned uncomfortable? 

He huffed out a breath and ran fingers through his hair, took two steps into the crowded, chaotic, but cozy study. Bones’ collection of books was as varied as any Jim had seen: legal tomes mixed in with medical references alongside “The Very Hungry Caterpillar”. It was in disarray, no order to the haphazard arrangement, but every book was in good condition, even the most loved ones well cared for.

“So...” Bones began.

Jim turned and had to bite his lip, too many damning words wanted to erupt. “So,” he replied.

“I can’t imagine anyone being a bigger hit with Jo,” Bones said.

“She’s a great kid, Bones. Smart. And tough. You’ll have to keep your eye on that one.”

Bones smiled, a bit ruefully. “Jo thinks she’s my protector. I hate that she thinks I need looking after--”

“Don’t you?”

“We do all right, Jim.”

The tension in the room was near unbearable and Jim couldn’t keep himself from asking, “I’ve been trying to figure it out. Why you didn’t tell me about Joanna. I didn’t think you were closeted--”

“I’m not! Not like that.”

“But you _were_ married. I’m confused. You invited me to lunch. Wanted us to get to know each other better and you never said one word about having a daughter!” Jim sucked in a harsh breath. He hadn’t meant to let his temper slip.

“I’m sorry, Jim. I didn’t mean...”

“What?” Jim dropped into an overstuffed leather arm chair and looked up at Bones. His heart was hammering in his throat for some stupid reason. He should just leave.

“I _don’t_ tell guys about Jo-Jo. I don’t bring them here... “ he paused, then shrugged and started pacing. “The truth is, unless I know someone really well, I keep this life separate. I compartmentalize. It’s just easier to be an average single guy out for a casual hook-up.”

He stopped, his arms flying up. “Just how many men do you know would even look at me twice if they knew that I was a full-time dad? I’m a working parent, father _and_ mother, and by God, Jo-Jo comes first, but sometimes...”

Jim was still, sat quietly, trying to keep it together, but his insides were being squeezed by a vise. Bones had never looked more vulnerable or beautiful, but Jim had no business thinking of him like that. Because Bones was right.

“Sometimes, Jim, I need to come first. I read parenting books and cookbooks before bed. I’m a soccer mom and spend my weekends buying tu-tu’s! I’m Mr. Mom on steroids, in a state of near panic, one step away from it all crashing down!”

Bones was getting that wild-eyed twitch going and Jim smiled. Couldn’t figure out why the hell the crazier Bones got, the more Jim’s heart thrashed against his ribs.

“Hell, I’m even learning to sew.”

Bones grew quiet, his eyes turning that rich, verdant green again, the sadness in them stealing Jim’s breath.

“Jo was with my mom. A couple of times a month, she takes Jo during Gaila’s weekends off. And I get to be someone who doesn’t have hot chocolate spilled on his jeans or Barbies in the backseat.”

He swallowed and Jim merely stared back, wondering why his throat was closing up.

“I have no idea how to be all that... be who I am and still date.”

There was more there, Jim was sure of it, but he wasn’t sure if Bones was going to say it. He blinked, wanted to say it was okay, but he really wasn’t sure if it was.

Their eyes met and Bones straightened. For an instant he looked terrified, but it was gone so quickly Jim was convinced it was only him projecting.

“If I’m truthful, I’m scared. I’m just not sure bringing a guy into Jo’s life is the best thing. I’m not sure what that will do to who we are. How we get from one day to the next. This is still the deep South.”

Jim was trying to understand and really, it shouldn’t hurt so damned much. Not when he’d just met the guy and obviously knew nothing about him. “I get it,” he answered, his voice steadier than he felt. “I’m just a hook-up who’s leaving in a week, so I get why you didn’t tell me... sorta.”

Bones ran his hands through his hair, but he didn’t offer another apology. “I thought it would be too hard. Jo’s been through enough and I didn’t want to introduce her to someone we might never see again.”

“Right,” Jim stood, put on his game face, giving Bones a forced smile. “Because I’m just someone that you had sex with once and slept with twice.”

“Actually I thought _I_ was just someone _you_ had sex with once and slept with twice.”

“Dammit, Bones. I think we just went way beyond complicated!”

Bones nodded slowly, “Right. I’m a Georgia doctor and you’re an... incredibly beautiful documentary film maker from San Francisco... we’re worlds apart.”

He paused. “I have goats! Goats, Jim!”

“You have a goat?” Jim chuckled.

“Goats. Plural. Jo’s allergic to cow’s milk. Yeah, I sew and have goats. How’s that for impossible to relate to?”

They laughed at the same time, but Jim wasn’t laughing inside. Every damn thing that Bones said, all the domestic shit that should have made him run screaming for the hills only made Jim’s chest tighten more.

“Pretty up there, Bones.”

“Exactly.”

They both sighed softly, neither able to move closer, but neither wanting to move away.

It was a long fucking drive back to Spock’s condo that night. Too long. Gave Jim too much time to think and dream.


	6. Tell me how you really feel

After seeing the sights in Atlanta, which purposefully included avoiding ‘Sweet Georgia’s’ Jim took a couple of days to explore further afield, starting with Georgia’s coast. Maybe because he had grown up on the plains in land-locked Iowa, but Jim had always been drawn to the sea and the sounds of the surf. That was another reason he loved San Francisco, with its wharf, ocean breezes, and ever present salt tang on the air.

He toured Jekyll Island, starting with its History Center and ended up fascinated by the island’s history, how it became known as Millionaire’s Island because some of the world’s wealthiest families before WWII kept winter ‘cottages’ there. Mansions was a more accurate word.

He hiked around the Marshes of Glynn, stopping to breathe deep and listen to the wind rustle in the reeds and rushes. It was peaceful and gave him much needed serenity. Later, after taking countless photos of the lighthouse on St. Simons Island, he crashed for the night, too tired for dreams to plague his rest.

Savannah consumed an entire day and Jim wondered more than once what would have happened if he’d been able to rent the cottage there rather than Spock’s condo. For all the fascinating sights and gorgeous scenery Jim still returned to Atlanta in a melancholy mood.

~~*~~

Spock had just slid the pan containing the batter for his favorite coffeecake into the oven to take to Phil and Chris’s for their Christmas brunch and was thinking about settling in with the _San Francisco Chronicle_ when Jim’s landline phone rang. 

“Good morning, James T. Kirk’s residence.”

_“Hey, Spock! How are ya?”_

“Leonard. It is pleasing to hear from you. I hope you and Joanna are having a merry Christmas celebration.”

_“Thanks, Spock, we are. Why aren’t you answering your phone?”_

“It did not notify me of an incoming call.” Spock pulled his cell phone out of its holder on his belt. “It seems to have discharged completely. Perhaps I used the GPS application too often today during my walk. It uses the battery most inefficiently.”

_”So it does. How is San Francisco treating you, besides making you use the GPS?”_

“I am having a very pleasurable experience. The weather has been dreary the past few days but I still visited four museums, three restaurants featuring cuisine from three different continents and took a boat ride to Alcatraz Island. I also met Jim’s neighbors who are former employees of the CDC, including Dr. Philip Kenneth Boyce, the respected AIDS researcher.”

_“THE Philip Boyce?! That Phil Boyce?? Wow, that’s fucking amazing! Guy’s a rock star in my book. Is he still with Admiral Pike? He was hell on wheels as the chief. One of the guys in my lab still speaks of him with reverent tones and a worshipful attitude.”_

“They are indeed a couple. In fact, I am having brunch with them in about an hour. We had Chanukkah together a few nights ago....” Spock told Leonard some of the stories Boyce and Pike related during that dinner. He ended by saying, “And we were joined by Jim’s work partner, Nyota Uhura.”

_“Really? What’s she like?”_

“She is--” _She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She has passion for her work, for what is right and true about the world, a need to tell stories, to tell the truth. Hers is a singular mind_ “--quite lovely.”

_“That’s high praise coming from you.”_

As Spock was trying to work out if Leonard was having him on or being serious the line clicked. “Leonard, do you mind if I put you on hold for a moment? Another call is coming in.”

_“Yeah, sure. I’ll wait.”_

Spock pushed the ‘On’ button to switch to the other line. “Greetings. This is James T--”

_“Spock, it’s Jim Kirk.”_

“Ah, yes, good morning, Jim. A Merry Christmas to you.”

_“Thanks. Hey, how’s it going there? Why isn’t your cell working?”_

“My mobile phone battery was depleted during my walking tour earlier. With regard to your original question, all is well. As Leonard would say, if it hasn’t burned down, then it is a success.” He paused. “I have never quite understood why it is it funny to talk about something so extreme.”

Jim paused for a few seconds. _“Anyway, the reason why I’m calling, besides of course--how are you doing? You enjoying yourself?”_

“Everything is most satisfactory. Your loft affords a spectacular view of the city which I have enjoyed.”

_“Well your view certainly rivals mine. It’s kind of freaky when the planes fly in low for a landing, though.”_

“Yet I am constantly reminded by the FAA that the flight plans do not come closer than the standard set by the agency for urban airports.”

_“They may need to revisit those guidelines at some point because goddamn, they’re close.”_

“I agree.”

_“So anyway, I’m calling because I’m concerned about Linus. Great cat, by the way. If I was certain of having a cat like this, I’d get one in a heartbeat. But, uh, does he sometimes, uh, go off his feed, like, when he’s upset or you’re gone or something? Because he hasn’t been eating. Drinking water, yes, but hasn’t touched his food. I got so desperate for him to eat something last night, I opened a can of tuna and he just walked away from it. I mean, what cat turns up its nose at tuna?”_

Spock could hear the worry and slight frustration bleed into Jim’s voice. It made him glad that Jim was concerned for Linus’s well-being. “Linus sometimes chooses not to eat for a variety of reasons. But yes, when I am away, I have been told his intake of food drops off precipitously. Do not be concerned. Linus will eat when he is hungry enough.”

_“Well, if you’re--”_

“Jim, may I put you on hold?”

_”Uh, sure, but--”_

“Leonard, I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Jim Kirk is on the other line asking me--”

_”Jim? Did he say anything about me? How’s he doing? Is he upset or anything?”_

“He did not mention you.” He paused. “You have met him.”

There was a much longer pause on Leonard’s end. _“Yeah, I have. Hey, I crashed at your place, like I always do when I work really late.”_

“You mean when you are inebriated.”

 _“That too. Come on, Spock. I can’t make it all the way home when I’m really tired.”_ Another pause. _”So did Jim say anything about--anything?”_

Spock was mystified by Leonard’s continual questions about Jim. “As I was trying to explain, Jim was--”

_”Dammit, Spock! Did Jim ask about me?”_

It was then the penny dropped in Spock’s mind. “Before we continue this line of discussion, let me speak to Jim. Please hold, Leonard.”

_”O--.”_

“Jim?”

_“Still here, Spock.”_

“Please forgive the delay. I was speaking to Leonard--”

_“Bones is on the line? How’s he doing? Did he ask about me?”_

“Bones?” Spock asked. “Who is Bones?”

 _”Oh, right. Sorry. Leonard.”_ Jim sounded embarrassed. _”It’s a long story, but Bones is a nickname I came up with...”_

“And Leonard answers to this nickname?”

_”Well, yeah.”_

“Jim, could you please hold for me?”

_”Suuuure.”_

Spock hesitated before hitting the ‘on’ button again, taking a deep breath. When he pushed the button deliberately, he said, “You have had sexual relations with Jim Kirk. Must you sleep with every male--”

_”Ummm, Spock? It’s me, Jim.”_

Spock cringed. “Forgive me, Jim. Please hold.” He pushed the button again.

“Leonard, I gave Jim my word that he would be free of entanglements--”

_”Still me, Spock. Did Bones tell you we had sex?”_

Spock was ready to begin swearing. “Forgive me again, Jim. I must have lost Leonard. And no, Leonard did not reveal your intimate details, but I have known him for many years. He is a uniquely emotional individual. I surmised what had happened by the tone of his voice.”

_”What tone? It was a good one, right?”_

Spock sighed, cradling his head in his hand which he only did when Leonard exasperated him to the point of extreme frustration. “It was fine, Jim. I simply know all of Leonard’s tells, especially with regard to his sexual encounters.”

_”Wait. Are you saying Bo--Leonard is kind of a slut?”_

If Spock could have reached through the phone to bop Jim Kirk on the head, he would’ve, though, logically, he knew that was not possible. “Of course not. I have known Leonard for many years. We have shared much about our lives with each other. I know his tells, and when he is uncertain--”

_”He’s uncertain?? What’s he uncertain about?”_

Spock could hear--what? Fear? Uncertainty? Hope? Anger?--rising in Jim’s voice. But he didn’t know Jim Kirk nearly well enough to make such a presumption based only on the tenor of his voice. For that he would’ve had to have the many years of close association that he has with Leonard McCoy. Instead, he replied, calmly, “I do not know, Jim. Perhaps you should talk to him.”

 _”You bet I will.”_ Another long pause. _”You’re sure Linus is going to be all right?”_

“About that, I am most certain. Linus will be fine.”

_“Goodbye, Spock.”_

“Goodbye, Jim.”

Spock distractedly hung up the phone. He examined his thoughts and feelings about why Jim and Leonard being together would be so disconcerting. Perhaps because he didn’t want Jim to have a poor holiday experience, which would somehow, irrationally, reflect upon him, when he himself was having a splendid time. He liked Jim Kirk, having seen Jim’s living space, his work, and his intelligent, beguiling partner. Because if Nyota Uhura trusted and liked Jim Kirk, then that was all the validation he needed as to the man’s character.

Not that he thought his best friend in the world was in any way a _slut_ , but did he think Leonard McCoy was the same type of person Nyota Uhura was? That Leonard was worthy of Jim’s attention--and love? That he was truly ready to love again? On that thought, Spock was not sure. 

~~*~~

Even two glowing candelabras and a nearly full bottle of wine couldn’t make the restaurant meal ‘for two’ (because no one catered a singleton Christmas dinner) look anything but spartan and lonely on Spock’s large dining table. Once the table was cleared, food put away, and dishes washed, it was still early. Too early... or was it too late?

Jim surfed the channels with fervor, trying to ignore his half-packed suitcase and the nagging sense that he had failed some critical test. Again.

In his experience, Christmas was one of those holidays that had veered widely from cozy family holidays at the farmhouse to grim, pre-packaged meals followed by awkward silences. His mother had done the best she could, but her depression had overwhelmed their lives often enough at the holidays to make Jim skittish and wary during the season. Once he left Iowa for college, he was always grateful when studies or work allowed him to honestly avoid going home.

Spending this Christmas in Spock’s condo shouldn’t have felt worse than his fifteenth Christmas. That infamous year had sent Winona on a tear as she tried to purge their lives of all that remained of George Kirk in some futile hope that erasing George would help her own illness and pull Jim off the troubled path he was on. Her plan to sell George’s Corvette -- the car that was _Jim’s_ \-- to that asshole, Frank, had been the last straw. The car ended up smashed at the bottom of the quarry, Jim locked up in juvenile hall, and Winona checked into a treatment center. Even Grandma Kirk’s cooking and mediating presence hadn’t eased the brittle, regret-filled silences that Christmas.

Jim sighed aloud, disturbing Linus who lifted his head and butted Jim’s hand, demanding recompense for being woken. Jim shook his head, but complied, affectionately petting Linus and seriously considering getting a cat.

The loud knock on the door roused Jim. He didn’t make it far before Spock’s door flew open and Bones strode in, taking Jim’s face between his large, perfect, strong hands. Despite his demanding entry, Bones’ kiss was tentative and soft, a gentle, questioning close-lipped tease. But Jim didn’t want tender. His heart banged against his ribs as he welcomed Bones by opening up for him, pulling him close. Bones’ mouth stole his sigh, capturing it and Jim’s tongue as he pressed harder, leaning forward until Jim caved, arching back, allowing himself to be seized and claimed, easily giving Bones everything.

And Bones used that permission to overwhelm Jim, to blot out anything that wasn’t sure hands stripping off his clothes even as he mouthed a symphony on Jim’s skin. They rushed to the bedroom, leaving a trail of hastily discarded clothes in their wake, Jim’s t-shirt landed on Linus, making him jump.

Jim laughed, but then Bones was there, touching him, his hand knowing and confident as he reached into Jim’s shorts. The cat and everything else was instantly forgotten as they fell back onto the bed, Bones still wearing his socks and Jim’s boxers around his knees. It was frantic, heated, and perfect, especially after Bones spit into his hand and worked them both together.

Jim cried out, bowing up.

“That’s it, darlin’,” Bones groaned against Jim’s neck. “Let me hear ya.”

As if Jim had any choice in the matter. It was messy and over too soon, but when Jim opened his eyes to find a debauched and wickedly grinning Bones kneeling over him, he realized that it had barely begun. To make that quite clear, Bones began to lap and suck at his fingers, while keeping those heaven-sent eyes locked on Jim’s.

“Bones, goddammit!” And fuck if Jim wasn’t more than halfway ready to go again.

Jim should have known by the glint in Bones’ eyes that he was in trouble. He’d already experienced just how talented the good doctor was, but he was just now realizing that Bones had been three sheets to the wind at the time. Now Bones was wholly sober. And intent on sucking Jim’s spine out through his dick.

When Jim was sure he couldn’t take any more, body tensing from sharp-edged pleasure, Bones stopped cold. Jim’s vociferous protest was very real.

“Boooones! Fuck! That’s not—”

Before he could finish, Bones silenced him with another searing kiss. And Jim melted, his dick momentarily forgotten, which, in Jim’s memory, was a pretty impressive feat. But Bones could kiss like there was no tomorrow. Jim clung to Bones’ biceps like creeping ivy, reveling in the sensation of being completely and utterly at Bones’ mercy.

Bones dragged his lips over Jim’s one last time before pulling away. Jim lifted up to chase those plush lips, but Bones had other ideas. He breathed against Jim’s ear, the sheer need in his gruff rasp raising goosebumps on Jim’s skin.

“How do you like it, Jim? If I was nothing but your pleasure slave for the night, what would you want?”

Jim’s answer was a whimper and pressing his hips up against Bones.

“Want me to turn you over, spread your cheeks, and lick you open? Work you until you’re so wet and loose that I slide in slick and easy, like a hot knife through butter?”

Jim’s mouth went dry as he tried to form words. He nodded desperately and pressed his feet to the bed for better leverage. Bones, the evil fucker, shifted away, his mouth still plying Jim’s libido with enough fuel for the next million wanks.

“Or do you like it rough? Nothing but a condom and a bit of lube before I shove your knees to your chin and impale you, hard and fast? You like that edge of pain before I blow your mind with pleasure?”

Jim forgot to breathe, his lungs unable to cooperate as he scrabbled for purchase on Bones’ sweat-slick skin. His fingers dug in as he pulled Bones’ mouth down to his. Fuck but he was strung tighter than a recurve bow.

“Fuck me, dammit! I don’t care how, but if you don’t fuck me right now, _Leonard,_ I’m going to turn you over and ride that big cock of yours until you can’t remember your goddamned name!”

Bones’ low chuckle should be illegal, especially when he had Jim writhing beneath him, the poor fly caught in Bones’ web, drawn in by a gruff exterior and expressive eyes only to find out now, when it’s far too late, that Bones was evil. Sin incarnate. And the best damned lay Jim’s ever had.

If this was what an intimate knowledge of anatomy gave you, Jim was going to start stalking med schools.

Bones surprised Jim, who was putty under those capable hands, by not only doing every damned thing he’d asked (threatened?), which seemed contradictory and impossible, but he did it with such intensity and grace and focus that Jim wondered if he’d died at some point along the way.

But, no, he still lived, or at least he thought he was alive. Given the sticky come and lube squelching between them and the way his skin sparked and his back twitched, he was very much alive and enjoying that blissful lethargy, though he missed Bones’ weight and warmth when he dropped to Jim’s side, flopping back to the bed in glorious, debauched splendour.

“Fuck, Bones,” Jim gasped, still trying to coax air into his lungs. He turned his head and met Bones’ eyes and smug grin.

“Again? You’ll have to give me a bit, darlin’,” he drawled.

Jim couldn’t resist that slow and sexy accent, how it dropped low and rough, slid over Jim’s skin like warm honey. It did all sorts of things to him, lit him up like a Christmas tree and managed to make his cock twitch despite the two earth shattering orgasms Bones had already wrung from him. He scooted over to Bones, kissed his shoulder, laughing as Bones tugged him closer still.

“Twice and you’re done in, old man? I thought you came over here to work off that extra piece of your nana’s pecan pie?” Jim teased. 

“Do not bring my nana into this!” Bones growled.

And, no, that was not a girlish squeak when Bones’ tickled his ribs, but it most definitely _was_ when he flipped Jim and mouthed at his oversensitive nipples.

“Fucker,” he huffed at Bones who simply blew a raspberry on his abdomen before looking up at him.

Jim’s stomach fluttered and for once he was struck silent because he’d never felt anything like the wash of emotion that swamped him at that instant. Bones with his floppy hair, verdant, richly hued eyes and those damnable dimples struck something in Jim. With little more than southern charm and soulful eyes, Bones had hit the perfect resonance frequency, cracking the impenetrable glass protecting Jim’s heart.

Jim knew his expression was off, that he’d not reacted to whatever Bones had said because the man himself was suddenly looming over Jim, all concern hidden beneath a gruff frown. “Jim?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Jim pulled himself together, or as best he could with the revelation that he’d just had. He smiled, that easy, go-to grin he gave everyone. “‘m fine, Bones. Just got lost... thinking about the film, all the work still to do before the premiere.”

“Work?”

Bones pulled away, stung, and Jim was left cold, a shiver running up his back. Jim nodded, sitting up against the leather headboard and tugging the sheets over himself. “Yeah, sorry.”

He didn’t like hurting Bones, but this... this couldn’t be happening. The more Jim ran from those three little words in his head, the bigger and more powerful they grew. He felt just like Pooh being chased by Heffalumps and Woozles. But he had to put a stop to this, before he screwed up again.

“Bullshit!”

Jim flinched, but turned to look at Bones even if his eyes kept darting away. “What?”

“You’re a shit liar, Jim. You and those accursed eyes of yours. I might wear my heart on my sleeve, but yours is in your eyes, so don’t fuckin’ lie to me.”

Jim bit his lip. Bones wasn’t exactly pissed, but he wasn’t happy with Jim, either. His voice had dropped even lower, had a tense burr to his drawl, making Jim’s breath hitch. Then he straddled Jim’s legs, arms either side of Jim’s head on the headboard, every last glorious inch bare. Jim inhaled despite himself. Bones smelt of sex, bourbon, cloves, and musk. Jim shook his head, his throat too tight to give Bones the answer he wanted. 

Instead of being angry, something softened in him and he dropped a careful kiss on Jim’s forehead before resting his own there. “It’s okay, darlin’. I know right now all you can think about is running because this was too fast, impossible to feel like this so soon. But I want you to hear me out... I love you and know we can make this work.”

“Bones,” Jim croaked out. He wanted to believe, but long experience had taught him it was better if he didn’t.

He pushed against Bones’ chest, gained some breathing space, but he couldn’t pull his hand away. Instead of meeting his eyes, Jim just stared at his fingers pressing into Bones’ skin. “You said it yourself, how different we are. I can’t do this, Bones. Not because I d-don’t feel... like that, but because I don’t want you as my ‘ex’. I like you too much for that.”

“So you’ve already given up? Before we’ve even started?”

There was a flash of anger, a lot of hurt, and a hint of condemnation in that statement. Jim wasn’t a quitter, but he knew how this would go, how it always went with him, and he didn’t want that, not with Bones. “Can’t do that to you.”

“Well, newsflash, kid, but you don’t get to deny what I feel, what I want, that I know you’re worth the effort...”

Jim had to swallow then and blink rapidly. “No!”

But Bones wasn’t stopping. “You think I’ll let you get away even if you run back to San Francisco? You think that’s far enough? I’ll follow you, stalk you... I’ll sic Joanna on you, don’t think I won’t! And if you can by some unknown superpower resist her, then I’ll set Gaila and my nana on you! You’re not getting away, not from me, not unless you look me in the goddamned eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

Jim straightened, licking his lips and turning, ready to say it, but he met Bones’ eyes and it was all over. He was done in. “I-I...” he started, then sighed, defeated. “You stubborn son of a bitch! You win! I love you!”

Bones tackled Jim to the bed and he went willingly. This man already had his heart in his keeping, he might as well have everything else.

~~*~~

The days after Christmas saw Spock travelling in Jim’s very practical Prius to San Luis Obispo to visit his mother’s sister and her husband, who were genuinely delighted to see him. They entreated him to stay an extra day, which he consented to, in order to visit a former professor of his from Harvard, now Dean of the university there. His cousin Jonathan also returned from his holiday and Spock was pleased to meet his newest small cousin, a boy named Arthur. All in all, Spock was glad he had gotten out of San Francisco and visited his California relations. He left with admonitions to return and to send his parents their love.

Back in the city, Spock unwound by working out on Jim’s treadmill and thinking about fetching dinner from the excellent Korean restaurant from around the corner and sharing it with Chris and Phil, plans made over a phone call when he had checked in with the two men upon his return. He had missed the presence of the two older men, kindred spirits and fellow scientists. Even though Chris wasn’t technically a scientist, he was an engaging and insightful man whom Spock had grown to have enormous respect and affection for.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and neck with a towel and was getting ready to change when his cell phone rang. It was the ringtone Leila had installed for her calls alone. With some trepidation he picked it up. “Hello?” he asked politely.

_“Spock! Hello! How are you?”_

“I am well.”

_“You sound breathless.”_

“I just finished my work out.”

_“You’re finished? Great! I have a surprise for you. Did you get it?”_

Spock looked around the loft. “I apologize. But what kind of a surprise?”

_“Did you check the front desk?”_

Spock threw down the towel and headed for the elevator. When he turned the key, the door opened, and Leila was standing there with her arms open. “Surprise! I’m the surprise!”

This was the last thing Spock had imagined would happen. That she would return and--well, the scenario that Leila would come back to him had flitted across his mind. A week ago, he had wished it so. But now? 

“Darling, Spock,” Leila cooed. She threw her arms about him and kissed him. “I can’t believe you left Atlanta for the holiday, just to come all the way out here. Jim was lovely to tell me how to get here.”

“Jim? You met Jim Kirk?”

“Of course, darling. He’s living in your condo? Anyway, he sounds like he’s having a good time.”

Spock was somewhat unnerved that Jim would tell Leila that he was here in San Francisco, but really, he didn’t tell Jim, or even Leonard, _not_ to say anything about his whereabouts. He doubted Leonard would’ve told her, and, in Jim’s defense, Spock hadn’t told him the entire story, either.

“I was reading your new pages just last night, Leila,” Spock said as he led her through the loft to the kitchen. “They are very good, and move your story along well.” He put the kettle on to make tea. “It seems that the past week in Nova Scotia was good for your muse. Mark must be good for you, too.”

Leila’s face stilled, and he turned away from her. Even saying his name gave him a pang right in the pit of his stomach. “Well, about that, Spock,” she said quietly. “We--we never actually made it to Nova Scotia. Something about a nor’easter that shut down most of the Maritime provinces. We spent the holiday at home.”

“Oh.” Spock had a fleeting flare of satisfaction that she didn’t make it to the commune. She chattered on about Christmas and writing and her latest escapades with a group of girlfriends that Spock didn’t particularly like. “And Mark? Where is he?”

“He’s in Atlanta.”

“And he knows you are here?”

“More or less.”

The kettle sang, and Spock made tea for them. He was going to sit at the bar with her, but Leila stood and said, “Let’s sit on the sofa, shall we?”

He carried their cups to the living area, a very cozy area in front of Jim’s elaborate audio-visual entertainment center. “Jim is really into this stuff,” Leila observed as she sat.

“He is a filmmaker. I would expect him to have the latest and best equipment as this serves as a viewing area for him.”

“Oh. I didn’t know Jim was in show business.”

“He is not. He makes documentary films.”

Spock sat on the opposite end of the sofa, but Leila had other plans. She scooted over next to him so that they were touching hip to knee. She took his bicep in her hands and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

Spock took a deep breath. “Leila,” he said as gently as he could, “not more than a week ago you made it perfectly clear you were no longer interested in an intimate relationship. Despite that, I am willing to continue to serve as your editor until you finish the novel.”

“Oh, Spock,” she replied with a small giggle, “we can still have an intimate relationship. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“And Mark?”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

Spock stood suddenly, the image of Nyota’s dismayed face flitting across his mind. Then, he felt nauseated at what Leila was proposing--betrayal, deceit. _Lying_ to someone who loved her. “No,” he declared. “That is not acceptable. You made it clear you did not want to be with me, yet you now say you do and wish to remain with Mark. You cannot have it both ways. I will not be your ‘dirty secret’ as Mark was for what was obviously a considerable time.”

He walked towards the elevator door, and Leila followed him. “I loved you for three years. I gave you everything,” he continued, becoming angry as he did. “I gave you my heart. And you did not have the courtesy to break it off with me when you wished to be with him.”

“But Spock--”

“No. I believe we are finished for good.” He picked up her coat and handed it to her. “Yes. We are finished.” He looked at her and smiled. “I am finished with _you_. I must now ask you to leave as I have a dinner engagement with friends in forty-two minutes.”

“But Spock--”

“I’m sure you can catch the evening flight back to Atlanta. You were not sufficiently thorough when you gathered your belongings from my condominium. Please drop by before I return to pick them up and leave your key with Jim.” He held the door open for her and ushered her in the small compartment, leaning in to press the button to take her to the lobby. “Goodbye, Leila. Oh, and one last thing--I resign. Get Mark to be your editor.”

The door closed on her surprised face. 

Spock turned and hurried up the stairs to the loft where he hastily changed into a sweater, trousers, and shoes. As he did, he couldn’t stop smiling.

*~*

Spock was greeted by a casually dressed Phil Boyce. “It’s good to see you!” Phil said, taking one of the bags from Spock’s hands. He enfolded a slightly surprised Spock into a quick guy-hug.

“It is very good to see you too,” Spock said. 

“Did you enjoy your trip to visit the relatives?”

Dinner was quickly laid on the table, with Chris joining them, fresh from the shower, while Spock related his tale about visiting relatives. Chris dug into the spicy fragrant Asian food, making appropriate “Yes, I’m hearing you” sounds while Phil answered more actively.

“Always nice to make contact with far-flung relatives,” Phil said, spooning brown rice onto his plate. “When was the last time you saw your mother?”

“It was at Thanksgiving. Mother and Father went to New Zealand for the holiday, a long-anticipated cruise to a country they have never seen,” Spock replied.

“That’s nice,” Chris said finally. “Sorry about that. I’m ravenous!”

Spock merely nodded, but Phil opened his mouth to make a comment, when the doorbell sounded.

“Excuse me,” Phil said, rising. “No, no. Don’t get up. Just continue eating, Chris. I enjoy being your houseboy.”

Chris made a rude gesture at Phil’s retreating back, which only made Spock smile. He and Leonard enjoyed a similar relationship with each other, only without the sexual component. He was suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see Leonard. They’d only spoken once and traded a few emails during his visit. He wondered how his relationship with Jim was progressing, if it was progressing at all. He was still uncomfortable with the situation, but both men had sounded quite smitten with each other during their somewhat disastrous three-way phone call.

“Look who’s come for a visit!” Phil announced.

Nyota Uhura held up a bottle of white wine. “I apologize for crashing the party, but Phil assured me I wouldn’t go away hungry.”

Spock and Chris rose from their chairs as she approached the table. Phil laid her coat and bag across the back of the sofa. “Welcome, Nyota,” Chris said, as he kissed her cheek.

She turned to Spock and favored him with a bright smile. “It is good to see you,” he said, taking and squeezing her hand.

“You, too,” she replied, somewhat shyly. “All of you. Is this from the Korean place around the corner?”

She sat and Phil provided her with a plate and a glass of wine. As food was served to her and eating commenced in earnest again, they brought her up to date with holiday activities and travel. Food disappeared quickly, and Phil brought out the last of the Christmas desserts and sweets that he’d been hiding from Chris (“You dog!” Chris exclaimed as Phil gave Nyota the last piece of pie. “I’ve been looking for that!”) Spock, warmed by good food and excellent company, felt comfortable and a little bit emboldened. He had pushed his chair closer to Nyota’s and leaned back in it as he sipped his tea.

“My goodness, guys!” Nyota exclaimed when Phil offered her a tin of cookies. “My mother and sister-in-law stuffed me enough over the past few days. I love them, but I was really glad to see them go, if anything not to hear someone urge me to eat every time I turned around.”

“Ah, family,” Chris said contentedly, as he drank decaf coffee. He had his arm around Phil, who leaned into him. “Always nice to see them come, happier to see them go.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Phil countered. “He loves our great-nephews, all six of them.”

“Just not at the same time,” Chris clarified.

The evening wended on, comfortable and easy. Finally, it was time to leave. When Spock reached the door, Nyota came to him. “Do you mind if I come with you? I need to retrieve some things from our work space.”

“Of course,” Spock replied.

Once back in Jim’s loft, Nyota quickly went up to the other loft, while Spock made more tea, and settled into the living area with a book. After a short time, she descended and joined him on the sofa. 

Spock put the book down. “I have something to tell you. Leila came by earlier,” he said.

Nyota’s eyes widened. “Leila? Your ex Leila? Why?”

He told her about their encounter, about how Leila had asked him to do to Mark what they had done to him, and how he had rejected her. “I felt as though a great weight has been lifted from my chest,” he said. “I no longer felt sorry for myself or regretted the loss of her from my life. I felt, in short, like a new man. A man who deserves so much better.” He looked at Nyota.

Her shining eyes and soft expression told him everything. “Nyota,” Spock said, gathering his courage, “I realize we are separated by an entire continent, but I would. . .like to see you, romantically, if that is agreeable.”

Nyota leaned into him and pressed a shy kiss to his cheek. “That would be most agreeable. I would like to see you as well.”

As she pulled back from that simple kiss, Spock was overwhelmed by the need to demonstrate the feelings that had grown in his heart for her. Never had he felt so strongly the need to _kiss_ another person he had known in so short a period of time. It was illogical, but he _had_ to do it. He bent and angled his head just as she lifted and angled hers, and they met in a perfect kiss in the middle. He placed shaking hands on her face and melted into her lips. He felt her arm encircle his waist. 

As their lips parted, Spock felt Nyota press herself to his chest, and he held her closely. “I really need to go,” she whispered, “but I don’t want to.”

Spock was warmed by her body and her words. He kissed the top of her head and then her cheek, and then her lips once again, chastely and sweetly. “I, too, do not wish for this moment to end, but if you do not, I-I may not wish you to leave. Ever.” 

She smiled. “Really? You mean under that stoic reserve beats the heart of a passionate soul?”

Spock felt himself becoming rather reckless. “I can be very passionate when the situation warrants it,” he said, hugging her tighter.

“Of that, I have absolutely no doubt,” she said. Standing, she took his hand and, with a wicked grin, pulled him off the sofa and towards the stairs to the bedroom.


	7. All's well that ends well

All in all, Phil thought, getting the two new couples together--Jim and Leonard, and Spock and Nyota--for a Valentines’ Day long weekend holiday had taken minimal effort. He and Chris were hosting Joanna McCoy in their apartment, so as to give Leonard and Jim some privacy. Nyota had Spock staying with her at her place, and frankly, none of them had seen them outside of the group activities Chris and Phil had planned. The trip to Napa wine country had been wonderful, with the weather cooperating for once. They’d grown to _adore_ Joanna, finding her to be a breath of fresh air from the boy-children in their lives. Who knew girls were like that? (Leonard, though, assured them Joanna had her more profane moments.) 

Saturday night, the Korean restaurant had hosted the entire group in the party room in the back and prepared a sumptuous feast for them before they headed out for the premiere of Jim and Nyota’s film. The premiere had attracted loads of media attention, which kept them busy for several hours. But the well-deserved reviews and accolades their documentary received more than made up for the separation Leonard and Spock had to endure during the weekend. They were both so proud of their lovers and were pleased to see them acknowledged for their hard work. Beside it being Valentine’s Day, the premiere was the perfect reason to return to San Francisco. 

But the weekend was just about to get better.

~~*~~

Leonard looked around Jim’s loft in amazement. That he was here and had been to an honest to god movie premiere was amazing enough, but even more astounding was the welcome he and Joanna had received. Nyota and her family were warm and open, the children accepting Joanna in their midst as easily as if they’d known her their whole lives.

He turned his eyes to Jim’s neighbors, two men who were pioneers not only professionally, but also in their personal lives. Even after all their years together, their love and devotion to each other was clear and beautiful to behold.

Leonard smiled softly as his eyes shifted to Jim who was currently sitting on the floor, having been roped into some game with the kids. And he was quite sure Jim was the biggest kid in the group.

“It is good to see that smile again, Leonard,” Spock said, his gentle smile belying his dry tone.

Leonard elbowed him. “It’s damned good to see a smile on your face at all,” Leonard grinned as he looked at Spock.

Spock canted his head toward Leonard, one eyebrow rising. “I smile, Leonard, as well as laugh.”

“I know, I know. This is good, isn’t it?” Before Spock could give him a hard time, Leonard continued, “And you know exactly what I mean, dammit. No knit pickin’ my words. And no ignoring the elephant in the room.”

“Elephant?” Spock sounded genuinely confused.

“Yeah... you and me both, we’ve got the same problem...”

Leonard didn’t need to continue. Spock’s lips tightened, his barely there nod speaking volumes.

“Have you two talked about it, then?”

Spock straightened ever so slightly as he considered his words. “Not precisely.”

“You don’t beat around the bush, Spock. So I’ll take that as a ‘no’.”

“There has not seemed an appropriate time to this point.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

Spock went still before turning to look at Leonard. “I would think that depends upon what _you_ plan to do.”

“Well, shit, Spock. I can’t just ask Jim to move in with me. It’s different for us. His work is here.”

“As is Nyota’s.”

“Yes, yes. But y’all can move in together. Hell, y’all can get married and no one will bat an eye. Jim and I... we don’t... it’s not that easy...” Leonard’s eyes slid back to Jim who had Joanna in his lap, both of them laughing loudly.

Spock’s hand rested on Leonard’s shoulder and his voice grew quiet, but no less fervent. “Leonard, if you wish to ask Jim to move to Georgia, do not let small-minded bigots prevent you. Life is too short. You, of all of us, know this.”

Leonard did know. He’d already lost the love of his life, or he’d believed Joce was that forever love. Now, he couldn’t imagine living without Jim. “I know, Spock. But, you’ve met my mama.”

“And while your mother is very rigid in her thinking, she has, at last, accepted that I am Jewish and have no interest in taking Jesus Christ as my lord and savior. She will learn to accept Jim as well.”

“And it only took her how many years, Spock?”

“Seven point three.”

“I think this’ll take far longer.” Leonard sighed. “She doesn’t even know that I’m bi, let alone that I’ve fallen in love with a man.” Leonard shook his head. “Well, now that we’ve established that I’m royally screwed, what are you going to do?”

“Aid an airline to stay out of bankruptcy?”

Leonard laughed at Spock’s droll comment. If only there wasn’t a huge kernel of truth to his statement.

~~*~~

Jim leaned against the bar, taking another sip of punch. He couldn’t believe that he was actually drinking the stuff, let alone enjoying it. He wasn’t exactly smiling, but he was surprisingly content with a home full of children and adults. From the little scene across the loft, it looked as though Joanna was getting a bit cranky as Bones tried to pull her away from her newfound besties. It was getting late so he shouldn’t be surprised, but Joanna’s reaction was turning into a full-blown mini-Bones rant. That he recognized it and found it amusing, that he had a _family_ should be scaring the shit out of him.

“Stop brooding, Jim Kirk, and tell yourself you deserve this.”

Jim turned sharply at Nyota’s low admonition. He had to chuckle at how well she knew him. He shrugged and she bumped his hip with hers, her head tilting toward the domestic scene.

“Those two are something special, Jim. Don’t you dare screw this up,” Nyota said, her voice firm.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he turned to meet Nyota’s eyes. “But what the _fuck_ am I going to do?” he hissed, all the pent up need and want curling tight around the stone in his gut. He couldn’t lose Bones and Jo, but right now he wasn’t sure they didn’t deserve someone so much better and far different than him.

Nyota gripped his biceps and turned him to face her, giving him a gentle shake. “You, mister, are going to sub-let this place and we’re going to set up shop in Atlanta freakin’ Georgia just as soon as the Foundation green lights the project. We’ll be there at least a year. One year.”

Jim wasn’t surprised at Nyota’s intensity. She’d found something... _someone_ completely unexpected but so perfect for her. They both had too much to lose to let this slip through their fingers.

“One year,” he repeated, and the ache in his gut eased.

“I plan to be married by then. Where will you be?”

The chuckle that erupted was more self-deprecating than making fun of Nyota’s “visualize it” mantra, but she smacked his arm nonetheless.

“Well?” she glared.

“Living in a farmhouse in rural Georgia?” he asked, doubt still eating at him. _’Didn’t Joanna need a mother, not another dad?’_

“Say it like you mean it, Jim, and it will happen.” Her voice dropped as she linked their hands together and gave Jim’s a fierce squeeze as she tugged him toward the throng.

“Living in rural Georgia with the man I love and his amazing daughter,” he said, with conviction.

“Mister Jim!” Joanna cried and leapt into his arms. “Daddy says it’s bed time! But I’m not sleepy!” She kissed his cheek, squeezing her arms tight around his neck and totally expecting Jim to save her. As if he could refuse. Jim ducked his head and inhaled, cradling her gently as his heart swelled.

“I’ll talk to your daddy, Jo-bear,” he whispered, “but not too much longer, okay?”

Joanna scrambled out of his arms, nodding eagerly. “K!” she grinned up at him and he was lost as she scampered away, calling out to her friends. No way was he losing this. 

Of course, Bones wasn’t far behind Joanna and Jim relaxed into Bones’ embrace when his lover wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist, whispering to him, “Already spoiling her, darlin’?”

Jim turned, but didn’t pull out of Bones’ arms. “Absolutely. And I’m not apologizing for it.”

“Didn’t ask you to,” he murmured and Jim settled. _This_ was his to lose or keep. His choice. And by damned he’d fight for it with all he had.

Nyota, satisfied, smiled as Spock swept her into his arms for another dance.

~~*~~

“The little red and white lights on the window frames are a nice touch,” Chris said as he and Phil danced in a circle around the room. The bluesy beat of the song was perfect for tandem dancing. “But the shiny hearts are tacky.” 

“Hush, you,” Phil said, kissing his complaining partner. “I think they’re pretty.”

“Pretty?”

“Yes, pretty. So there.” Phil kissed him again. “Besides, no one else seems bothered by them.”

“Of course they don’t. They only have eyes for each other,” Chris said.

“So why aren’t yours on me, then?” 

Chris laughed low and throaty. “Just a momentary lapse, I suppose. Want me to make it up to you?”

“You’d better.”

Chris spun him again so that they ended up near the punch bowl on the counter. Nyota’s brother and sister-in-law were in the kitchen, restocking the plate of hors d’ouveres, and giggling like school children. “You all right over there?” Phil asked.

“We’re fine, just enjoying the show,” Nyota’s brother said.

Chris and Phil looked over at the other end of Jim’s loft where Nyota’s parents were entertaining their grandchildren and Joanna McCoy. The girls were getting along famously, but the little boy was having a harder time cracking into the game the girls were playing. Nyota’s father was mediating, and from the looks of it, doing a splendid job.

“I really like Nyota’s folks,” Chris said.

“Indeed. Good people,” Phil agreed, taking a sip of the punch. “Mmm! This is good. Here, taste it.”

He handed the crystal tumbler to Chris who took a sip and hummed his approval. Phil kissed his punch-reddened lips and moved to sit in the chair at the bar. He had to admit--this idea he and Chris had cooked up had turned out better than they’d ever imagined.

Spock and Nyota swayed gently to the music. They made a beautiful couple, both with glossy black hair, slim bodies, and dark, limpid eyes. In the short time they’d been together, Nyota had become much happier, smiling more, walking with a spring in her step. And Spock, when they saw him, actually cracked a smile several times. But they were positively serene compared to the giddiness expressed by Jim and Leonard. Jim had been floating since he returned from his holiday in Atlanta, when he wasn’t dancing or beside himself with glee. Phil grinned as he watched the two men--one blond, one dark, one giddy, one grumpy (which Phil observed to be a complete put-on; Leonard McCoy had a great laugh and loved his little girl with all his heart)--holding each other as they, well, not really danced, but pressed their foreheads together while talking quietly. Watching the two couples reminded Phil of the first days and years of his relationship with Chris, how he thought his heart would burst, so overflowing with love and emotion at finding someone to share the journey with him. Without even thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on Chris’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze.

Chris turned, and seeing his face, asked, “You okay?”

Phil cleared his throat, which suddenly felt tight. “Yeah, I’m just fine, love. Just fine.”

The music changed. A more rocking, fun song started up, and Joanna leapt up from her game. “I love this song,” she shouted. She ran over to Leonard and Jim and threw her arms about Leonard. “Daddy! Let’s dance!”

“Hey, sweet pea,” Leonard said, releasing Jim and picking her up. “One last one.”

As Leonard started bopping with his daughter in his arms, Jim looked uncertain as to what he should do. “Mister Jim,” Joanna said, “dance with us!”

And just like that, Jim’s face lit up as Joanna held out her arm to gather Jim to her. He moved in closely as both McCoys wrapped an arm around his neck and waist. The three of them fell into a lively sway and sang along.

Phil felt Chris bump his hip with his. “Hey, dance with me, partner.”

Phil watched as Nyota and Spock parted to accommodate her nieces as they formed a four-hand circle. Even Spock laughed in quiet delight.

“Always, darlin’,” Phil said as Chris spun him around. “Always.”

The End


End file.
